


Lady of Dorne

by Ramzes



Series: Spears of the Sun [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 103,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Rhaegar wins at the Trident and for a while, things look peaceful... until, all of a sudden, Elia is called upon to adopt a new part: Lady of Dorne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, it was not planned or wanted at all. A new story is the last thing I need! It was just an idea that I had today. It wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to start writing it down.

_287 AL_

It was a lovely Dornish night. The crescent moon gave off just enough light to bring on something ethereal, something filling the space between earth and sky. The stars sparkled in the black water, making it look like it was sprinkled with fireflies. The air was redolent with the aroma of blood oranges and flowers, the scent of new growth. It was so peaceful.

And it was not right. The Water Gardens never used to be peaceful. Even in the bosom of night, there always used to be something giving up the presence of children, the breathing of youth and innocence.

Used to be.

"Why are you still sitting here?"

Oberyn Martell turned his head and shrugged. The flame of the lantern in the far end of the terrace reached forward like a greedy hand intended to grasp the water. His father's face was just as weary as he supposed his own was. There were deep bruised against his eyes and new lines on his face that hadn't been there before.

"I didn't feel like going in."

Alric Gargalen sighed. "I can relate…"

He took a seat in a chair nearby and like Oberyn, stared at the pool beneath. "We cannot go on like this," he finally said. "Oberyn, you must return to Sunspear. People need to see that you're alive and well. There are all kind of rumours…"

Oberyn laughed, albeit shortly. "Rumours about me? Why, that's a first!"

"Be serious," Alric said sharply and puckered his thin eyebrows. His black eyes held his son's gaze firmly. "I'll try to do whatever I can to help you but Sunspear needs to see that the Martell line still is."

Oberyn looked aside, too tired to form a proper snarky response. Usually, he and his father raised blazing rows that made the courtiers around dash for cover but not today. Not any day soon. "Whatever you can," he echoed and sighed. "Undo it, Father. Do it over and make it all go away. Tell me that there was no plague at all and it was all in my vivid imagination… like you did when I was a child…"

Alric looked down. "If I only could…"

For a while, they were silent, both thinking of the last time they had stood together at a terrace. It had been at Sunspear and they had watched the entrance of the ships in the port of Sunspear, among them the Pentosi galley that had brought the plague in Dorne. The plague that had claimed thousands of lives in just two months. Who knew how many more would it have taken, had they not closed Sunspear and the nearby boroughs off. About a quarter of the citizens of Sunspear were dead. Half of the children in the Water Gardens were no more and as soon as the quarantine was over, the rest had been returned to their parents who were frantic to make sure that they were alive and well, so now the palace was almost empty. Oberyn had come to almost like it.

"He used to watch me from here when he came to visit," he said all of a sudden. "And if he missed on this on his very first day here, I'd be terribly offended."

Alric smiled. "Yes," he said. "I remember. I also happen to remember that he barely missed that first day, though… it was easier to let you drag him here and finish his work later than argue with you and finish it later anyway. And with you, it was no sure thing that he wouldn't find a snake or two in his bed if he happened to incur your wrath."

The smile dropped off as suddenly as it had appeared. They couldn't keep talking about Doran as if he would make an appearance any minute now and say wryly that he was flattered to be an object of such interest. But they couldn't talk about the fact that he was no more either. That Mellario was no longer. That Quentyn's tomb, next to his sister's, was yet to be finished. It was too early.

Despite his scornful mask, Oberyn knew that he's have to go to Sunspear, and soon. The people needed to know that he was alive before madness ensued.

"I'll probably leave tomorrow," he said. "I'll leave Ellaria and the girls here, though."

Nothing on earth could make him subject them to the ruin he was to face if there was an alternative.

"Don't worry," a woman said from the door behind him. "I'll help her take care of them."

Oberyn rose and led her to his chair, avoiding the sofa where she had used to sit with Doran. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Why, is someone?" she wondered.

In the pale lights of night only the oval of her face was clearly visible. Her features were blurred and it was easy to imagine that it was Elia sitting with them. Of course, they wouldn't want Elia here. For first time in years, they were grateful that she was safely away at King's Landing. That blasted husband of hers might be a disaster but he was vastly better than the plague.

Alric looked at his niece and almost smiled. "So you think you can help someone care for the children? Until the very last moment you give birth, I suppose?"

Lady Alynna Dayne looked down at her belly and her lip curled. It was true that she was expected to give birth any day now but in the horror of everything that had happened around her, very few people paid attention to that, Alynna herself included. Alric and Oberyn had both been dismayed when she had happened to arrive at the Water Gardens only a day before the quarantine had been enforced. She had had no choice but wait for the sickness to run its course and die away, just like the rest of them did. "Yes," she said grimly. "I'll have to find a midwife, after all."

Oberyn sat down on the cold marble floor near her. "I'll find you one in Sunspear," he promised.

She looked at her uncle. "Are you leaving, too?"

Oberyn also looked at his father, eyebrows arched.

Alric shook his head. "No," he said. "I did my best to help your mother and then help Doran but there were always roads that they had to forge on their own. Until your sister returns, you're in charge of Dorne. It is your responsibility, Oberyn. I am sorry but that's about the size of it."

Oberyn nodded with grim acceptance. "We have to send for Elia indeed," he said and his mouth twisted. "I have no doubt that the fight for dominance will start immediately at King's Landing. They'd run each other through while they give our good King advice on who should accompany her and assert her succession here… or rather, Rhaegar's own."

"No!" Alynna exclaimed and gripped the arms of her chair. "He cannot do it. Can he?"

Her eyes moved from her uncle to her cousin. Their expressions only confirmed what she suspected was true. Targaryens did not believe that women could and should rule. And with no great lands of their own, they could not turn off the chance to gain Dorne - for their own domain, not just a vassal princedom.

"Never worry," Alric said. The idea of his goodson taking charge of Dorne through Elia sickened him no less than it did her. The thought that the man who had humiliated his daughter and had been a reason for her almost death could seize control was no less than abhorrent. But there was something more: House Gargalen had lost many of its members in the war that had erupted after Rhaegar had run away with his precious wolf girl. Alric was a man who never sought quarter – but he didn't give it to others either. Rhaegar Targaryen would never rule in Dorne – and that had been confirmed as early as his wedding. Now, the situation had changed but not this much. Dorne was Elia's right, not Rhaegar's. "Our lords and ladies won't stand for it."

He rose, for the sight of the two of them caused him pain. Alynna looked so much like Elia, in the moonlight even he could mix them. And that reminded him of earlier, better times – before Elia's marriage, long before Doran's death. He had been deeply affected by Mors and Olivar's untimely deaths – but this was worse, far worse. He now knew that he had almost forgotten them in a way he wouldn't forget Doran, Mellario, his grandchildren.

In the moonlight, his eyes glinted coldly. "Go to Sunspear," he said again. "We must summon a council. And we must call your sister back – without Rhaegar Targaryen."


	2. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot!

Once again, Elia looked up and once again, her eyes found nothing. Just the sky. Her eyes tried to permeate the clouds above her head, hoping to see a raven coming from the south, from home, but found none. The rumours were flowing incessantly, each more fearsome than the last. All they spoke of a plague, of a sickness that had been localized in a few pockets of Dorne… the biggest one being Sunspear. They spoke of bodies rotting out in the streets, for people were too scared to go out and bury them, thus spreading the contamination further. Of dry winds carrying it in all directions. Of quarters left without inhabitants. Of highborn and lowborn dying alike in drove. Of quarantine that made it hard to know the real size of the damage.

All the time she could spare for herself, she spent in the sept, praying. Rhaegar insisted that she was doing her health no favour by kneeling in the cold for so long. She paid him no mind. He had gone so far that he had actually ordered braziers to be taken and pillows be laid out in the sept for her benefit. She ignored the pillows and the Great Septon himself had objected to the braziers. Day after day, immediately after forcing herself to swallow the breakfast her ladies fetched her, she knelt on the cold marble of the sept, beseeching the Seven to spare those she loved, to look kindly to the land of her birth, the land of her heart. Then, she fulfilled the queenly duties that could not wait, spent some time with the children, went on the top of the highest tower of the Red Keep to look for ravens and returned to the sept where she stayed until dusk and the evening feast.

"Princess, I'd like to…" the Kingsguard said and she startled. He did, too, realizing what he had said. When they were alone, the few Dornish attendants she had left addressed her with the title she had been born to but to the Sword of the Morning, she was always "my queen" or "Your Grace".

"Yes?" she prompted him. "You may speak freely, Ser Arthur."

Her words were one thing but they both knew better. This terrible waiting had brought them closer once again, for he had his own loved ones to worry about, just as she did. But there was still the line that could not be crossed – it was in her surprise, in his own shock at addressing her the old way, as he had once when they had still been friends. They might have started feeling somewhat comfortable around each other again but it was only as long as they held to their parts – the first queen and the Kingsguard.

He swallowed and braced himself the way she had seen him bracing at the Water Gardens before the water competition with his friends. "We used to be friends once. When we were children, we always told each other the truth. We never lied to each other… I'd like to have our relationship stay the same."

"But it is the same," Elia said.

He shook his head. A small puff of the wind made his white cloak billow. "No, it isn't and I'd like… I'd like to make amends. Whatever you say. I cannot stand this situation any more."

Her lips curved into a faint, sad smile, the loss stinging as it had the day when, still too weak to rise from her childbirth bed, she had heard that he had disappeared along with Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, as it had the day Rhaegar had returned alone, leaving Arthur to guard his other wife, as it had the day she had learned that it was their homeland that he had been staying in while she had fought for herself, her children and her Dornish retinue in the Red Keep, while her kin had been dying in the battles Rhaegar's obsession had led to.

"It wasn't me who made it such, Ser Arthur," she reminded him.

"It wasn't me either, Princess."

"I know," Elia sighed. She had always acknowledged this. Her head knew it but her heart was a different matter. Stupid heart, it refused to let reason in. "But I cannot help but feel so."

He looked at her, then quickly looked aside, not bearing the sight of the hand she had raised to keep her hair from flowing into her face. With time, the scars had faded but they were there, they would never disappear, those ugly marks on her skin, the lines left by the burning beams the day King Aerys had razed the Red Keep almost to the ground… Arthur had often wondered what he had been doing this exact day, this exact moment at the round tower in the Red Mountains, yet he could never remember. All his days had been the same – the agony of not doing anything while the others fought, not knowing what was going on, not being able to go home when home was so tantalizingly near…

"What can I do to make up?" he asked, feeling what her answer would be. Elia of Dorne was nothing if not just. She measured him objectively – and gave him what he objectively deserved. Respect. The favour a noted member of the Kingsguard merited. But what he wanted should come out of the heart – and no one could control their heart.

She gave him a long hopeless look. His heart ached at the thought of everything they had lost, the trust they had shared and no longer did. "What you do already. You'll stay the Kingsguard and I, the Queen." She looked at the distance for one last time. "Let's go."

In the courtyard, the Master of Laws executed a low bow in front of the Queen. Arthur fought the urge to stand before her, shield her from those ghastly pale eyes. He could feel her revulsion even as she nodded graciously. Of course, they had no grounds to accuse the man of anything: he was always perfectly deferential to Elia, her children, the remains of her Dornish retinue. He performed his duties efficiently and meticulously. They only felt that he was a man who was gruesome and unclean in his soul. Elia felt the urge to take a bath each time she had been near him. "Lord Bolton," she said.

"Your Grace," he replied. "Are there news of your homeland?"

She shook her head. "Still nothing."

She would never let her worry show in front of someone like him. In fact, she could now understand why Lyanna had thrown such a fit when she had learned of his appointment, citing all the vices and supposed vices of House Bolton, as if a faultless character and goodness of the heart were what Rhaegar sought in his new Master of Laws, as if she had expected that he'd give the position to one of her family instead. Elia had been quite surprised by the girl's surprise. Surely the fact that Rhaegar had appointed Lord Yronwood, of all Dornishmen, Master of Ships should have told Lyanna what his course was? With time, Elia had come to realize the full extent of the girl's naivety where politics was concerned – and the fact that in King's Landing, everything _was_ about politics. But no matter how impulsive Lyanna was, she was not wrong about Roose Bolton. He was an evil man. Not that it mattered, of course…

"I am sorry to hear that," he now said. Elia only nodded.

"Thank you, my lord," she said. "You'll excuse me now. I have to go to my children."

"Of course, Your Grace," he said and bowed again.

She went on her way, mentally preparing to behave as normally as she could around the children. She had already decided that she wouldn't receive the merchants who had begged an audience – she could not focus enough. They could address their pleas to Lyanna or Rhaegar himself, although she doubted it would bring them much luck – Rhaegar was too consumed by worry about the future because it looked like despite his spending every night with Lyanna, she was just as able to give him the second daughter he so craved as Elia had been. As to Lyanna, she often complained that when she was forced to receive such people, she lost their train of thought between the blandishments and eloquent pleas they tried to win her over with. But now, Elia's state of mind was such that she lost her own train of thought ever so often – her worry was just too great. Only in the sept could she find some semblance of composure.

The echo of hooves brought her eyes to the gate of the yards. A group of horsemen came through. Arthur stood frozen, having recognized them a moment before she did. "Princess," he said and his voice caught.

Her eyes went over all their faces and finally stayed on the rider in the lead. Her father. Her blood curdled when she realized what that meant.

"No," she whispered.

Arthur's arms around her were the last thing she felt before blessed darkness engulfed her. She welcomed it eagerly.

 


	3. Words and Winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to all my reviewers for keeping this story alive.

She opened her eyes slowly, reluctantly. Some instinct told her that she would wake up to something terrible, so she clung to her sleep for as long as she could. But finally, she lifted her eyelashes and tried to focus amidst the torrent of fear and silent screams raging in her head.

"Elia."

The sound of this voice, the sight of this face hovering over the bed carried back the memory she had tried to forget in her sleep… tried to escape in her unconsciousness. She reached out and caught her cousin's hand. "Who?" she asked in a low tense whisper.

When one looked at Naeryn Sand, they were usually reminded of a frail silver doll whose imperfection made the rest of her all more fragile but that appearance was deceiving. She was stronger than she looked like – and the power in her right arm and hand was something that no one but a maester could anticipate. She could shake Elia away as easily as if she were Aegon – but she didn't. Her violet eyes filled with tears. "Doran," she said. "Mellario. The children."

Elia's lips moved in a faint attempt to form words, then she gave up and simply let the tears fall.

Outside, her Dornish retinue had gathered in the antechamber. Her father and aunt had taken the grim task of informing everyone how their kin was faring. Elia heard a wail and she couldn't make the voice out as Naeryn hurriedly assured her that Oberyn and the girls were fine, as well as their other family. That made it better but not by much.

"You can weep all you want," Naeryn said. "The Seven knows that I still do. But do it now. Let the worst come out today, for tomorrow, we'll need you with a clear head."

Even in her grief, Elia understood the implication. She could not think about it now, though. She threw her arms around Naeryn's neck and wept.

She didn't know how much time had passed before finally, the door opened. A moment later she was swept in a tight embrace that almost lifted her off the bed. She clung to the familiar smell and grip of arms that had always made her feel safe and loved, the arms she had thought she would never feel again. "My precious one," he said hoarsely. "At long last…"

That was how the King found them when he opened the door to Elia's bedchamber – Alric leaning over her and she clinging to him, her fists curled into his doublet. Elia did not hear her husband's coming but Alric looked up, straight at Rhaegar. For a moment, the King saw the same shock that the newcomers he had seen on his way through Elia's suite had regarded him with. Alric looked down at Elia almost immediately, though. "Your Grace," he said. "I'd like a moment of privacy with my daughter."

Rhaegar nodded. "I understand, my lord," he said. "I only came to see whether Elia needed something."

Alric didn't say anything, just looked at him again. The tender expression he had been looking at Elia with swiftly melted into something entirely else altogether; in the brief flash of his eyes, Rhaegar immediately recognized the like of the man's son Oberyn. Alric reached for his daughter's hand, touched the long rugged scars and raised his eyebrows. _Is this your care_ , his eyes spoke. "I assure you," Alric said evenly. "I am more than adequate to take care of whatever needs my daughter might have."

Since his concern about Elia had really been the only reason for his coming – at least for now, - Rhaegar decided not to take offense. He could hardly expect his goodfather to like him. And he was well aware that in such a moment, his presence would bring Elia more discomfort than comfort. Gone were the days they had felt good around each other. He didn't know how she felt about him – he hadn't seen _her_ in four years, just the polite serene mask a queen was required to wear. "I'll leave you, then," he said and did.

Swept by grief as she was, it didn't occurred to Elia that this might be her chance to have him leave her life forever.

* * *

_In the evening…_

To everyone's astonishment, Elia did appear on the evening feast, perfectly composed and immaculately dressed. As pale as ghost, she had her hand on her father's arm but she was walking steadily, as proud and dignified as ever. The retinue following them attracted everyone's notice, especially the two women with silver hair and amethyst eyes, clad in rich scarlet silks. Everyone knew that King Aerys had arranged Rhaegar's marriage to Elia specifically because she had some dragon blood on both sides but it was easy to brush her heritage aside as something that had been lost in flesh and spirit long ago. She never spoke of her Targaryen ancestors and when one looked at her, she was all Dorne, sun-kissed skin and eyes the colour of a deep night without a shade of light. Daella Targaryen's looks had passed her son and her granddaughter by – but they were more than evident in the woman who could only be her daughter. And the young one could only be _her_ daughter. Silver hair and amethyst eyes. Medium height and slim build. A poised posture and proud gait, as if they graced every chamber they walked in with the benevolence of their very presence. A wave of whispers rippled through the hall as the realization who exactly they were dawned upon everyone. Those were women who would be hidden away for the family honour's sake everywhere – everywhere but Dorne.

Elia seemed to be looking straight ahead but that was clearly not the case because when Naeryn started to head for one of the tables meant for their countrymen, she stopped and looked over her shoulder before turning fully. "You'll sit with me," she said and indicated the high table.

Naeryn gave her a stunned look. "I… I don't think…"

"Don't think," Elia said. "Just walk."

So Naeryn Sand, the girl without a father, an object of all kinds of rumours since before she was born, climbed to the dais and curtsied to the King.

Rhaegar stood to meet them and took Elia's hand from her father's to lead her to her seat. "What are you doing?" he murmured under his breath. Bastards did not belong to the dais but of course, he could not send Naeryn away without insulting his first wife.

Elia gave him a level look. "She's family," she murmured back. "She _always_ sits with us. Her stepfather doesn't mind."

Now, this was an argument he could not really object to. If Aegon V's youngest son had considered Naeryn's mother worthy to be his wife, he could not relegate the young woman to a lower table without risking a falling out not only with Alric and his sister but also his own mother. Rhaella always spoke fondly of her uncle Aemon whom she hadn't seen since Summerhall – and Naeryn's mother had been one of her closest friends, being only a few years older. Now, the two women exchanged smiles and Rhaegar decided to indulge Elia this time.

Behind him, Alric bowed to Rhaella and then Lyanna, quite perfunctorily this time. Rhaegar was relieved that he had bowed, however slightly. He imagined that Oberyn would have not conceded even this.

The servants started bringing the platters in and the feast started.

When Rhaegar felt it was safe, he cast a secret look at Naeryn, vowing that he would not stare. He just felt compelled to look at that part of her that had made her famous all the way through Dorne and a good deal of Westeros. To his surprise, she didn't require any special accommodations and dealt with her cutlery almost as easily as any of them, yet the King wasn't the only one who was looking at her, at the oval piece of skin her left wrist ended with. She truly didn't have a hand. She had been born without one.

Suddenly realizing that he _was_ staring, he was quick to look aside. Why had they brought her along? It would have been far kinder to leave her home where people were more or less used to her. Was this some kind of bizarre challenge or something? Or just desire to provide Elia with the company of a kinswoman? Since the end of the rebellion, most of her Dornish women had returned home. In truth, he had almost expected to see that Alric had brought along Ashara Dayne who had been Elia's closest companion.

Now, it was not the time to talk about politics and no one tried. But the formal condolences could preserve the peace only for so long. Even Arthur, in his white cloak at the end of the dais, looked tense, his eyes moving from Elia's father to Lord Yronwood and Lord Tyrell. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was meticulous in carrying out his duty but a few times, Rhaegar caught him staring at Aelinor Gargalen – Princess Aelinor Targaryen, he supposed it was, although she did not use the style. There was a distant, peculiar look in Gerold Hightower's eyes and Rhaegar was reminded that Aelinor had been born here at the time her father had been the Hand.

But the first arrow was shot with Mace Tyrell's remark. Rhaegar didn't know whether it was due to the wine the Fat Flower had consumed, or simply his antagonism against everything Dornish but the lord of Highgarden said the one thing that could not be explained away with any excuse of misunderstanding and misspeaking: he leaned over the table and grinned at Aelinor before asking in a loud, quite clear voice, "My lady, is it true that you have bedded Maelys Blackfyre?"

The Master of Ships glared at him and Rhaegar wondered why on earth he had decided it would be a good idea to place those two at the same table when they could barely stand the sight of each other even at the meetings of the Small Council. Alric's hand immediately went to his belt and Rhaegar realized that despite not having a sword, as was required in the King's presence, he probably carried a dagger.

Aelinor patted her brother's hand without looking at him to calm him down. Completely unabashed, she raised a fair eyebrow. "Excuse me," she said haughtily. "I thought I was at the King's table. If I need to relieve my conscience, I'll go to the High Septon."

In the silence following her dare, Rhaella turned to her and started a small conversation. Everyone sighed in relief. There wouldn't be any bloodshed in the great hall – yet.

* * *

_A few hours later…_

"Lord Yronwood surprised me."

That was the first words Elia said when she found herself back in her chambers alone with her father, aunt, and cousin.

Alric smiled a little. "He didn't surprise me, though," he said. "Your husband made a mistake by placing him at our table. He thought he was curtailing our presence but he overreached. Anders Yronwood might be a head of a rival House – but he's Dornish, first and foremost."

Elia reclined in an upholstered chair. Yes, it was true. She had almost forgotten that kinship that bounded Dornishmen against the rest of the world. They might fight each other and they might kill each other when they felt it was called to – but no one else could demean a fellow Dornishman or woman without repercussion.

For a while, the four of them were silent until they collected their thoughts. It was quite late at night and her servants had already gone to bed. Aelinor shivered.

"Are you cold?" Alric asked and without waiting went to close the terrace doors. He stayed there for a moment, his silhouette carved in the moonlight, the sudden pang on his face visible. "Lavender," he said and closed the doors. "It always reminds me of Arianne."

That was the very reason Elia had started growing it in the huge flowerpots. Lavender – that was her mother's private garden, her mother's perfume and the scent of her bathwater. Everything.

When her father came back to them, she realized just how old and tormented he was now. His dark skin and the inner fire he could summon at will hid the truth from those who met him for the first time but beneath, his cheekbones were deeply incised, his gait slow, his supply of energy quite exhausted. He had been functioning on sheer will alone – and of that, he had plenty. He had barely touched his wine at the feast and now, Elia realized that it had been because he hadn't been sure he'd be able to hold it.

He took a seat and his face tightened. "Now, we must talk."

"Do we?" Aelinor asked. "We're all tired from the journey and Elia is still dealing with the news. Give her some time."

"I am ready to give her all the time in the world," Alric said. "But the court won't. The King won't. I need to know what we can expect of Elia."

He looked at his daughter. "I believe you are aware of the situation," he said. "Later, we can discuss it in detail but for now, I need to know one thing. You know Dorne will never accept Rhaegar Targaryen as your consort. Do you wish to rule? Tell me now, for if you do not, I won't lose my time making overtures to your husband at all."

The silence that followed was a void of a lifetime filled with other expectations, other plans, other lessons. She had been taught in many arts, many studies and yes, she had even had many first hands glimpses of ruling Dorne. Memories burned through her – the nights her mother had spent over documents, trying to think of the best course in a terrible situation, the months and years her father had spent away fighting the enemies of Dorne and solidifying her mother's rule, the endless meetings of councils and warlords, the hours of rest cut short by a sudden unexpected developments. The mistakes.

At the same time, it was her chance of escaping a life that had become unbearable, no life at all. She could have a new one, in the land of her heart. She could be free from the Targaryen court and the attendants forced on her. She could have a husband who would actually come to her bed. One day, Rhaenys would have Dorne – and a far better life than the one Rhaegar's prophecy would doom her to.

She could have it all.

The pang in her heart was sharp, taking her breath away. No. She couldn't have it all. She had to leave something behind. Her son. The very thought made her bristle with horror. But as Lady of Dorne she would have far greater chances to help him claim his inheritance than an unloved, humiliated queen. Lyanna Stark might have been stupid enough to believe that love conquered all – by now, even she looked quite disabused of the notion – but Elia was far more practical. She would not let her son be usurped by the northern girl's pup. Not until she had a means, any means to fight back. And she would have much more of those if she made the decision.

Her father had the right of it. Dorne would never accept Rhaegar, with his prophecies and his absolute belief in his own dragon blood authority. Even Alric, who was a Gargalen, Prince Maron's own grandson, had been required to grow up in Dorne because Dornishmen didn't want to risk his royal kin influencing their future lady's consort too much.

"Do you… do you believe I can rule?" Elia finally asked and looked at them one by one: her father, her aunt, her cousin. They were all looking at her with the same expression of certainty.

Alric sighed. "You are Arianne's daughter, as well as mine. Of course I do."

It was strange, how such a small thing, a single reassurance could make up one's mind.

Elia slowly nodded.

* * *

_At the same time…_

"Did you see him? Did you? That's what happens when you send a child in Dorne. They send a little boy to Maron Martell and he raised them a Dornish snake."

Arthur's hand went for the hilt of Dawn which, of course, he was now not wearing. She was in his cell, ready to be polished as his evening ritual required. But even if he was wearing her, what could he do? Attack the Lord Commander?

_That's because he's drunk_ , he told himself. _He's had the entire day watch and now he drank too much, too fast._ _He doesn't mean it._ Yet each time he heard such words, they cut him deeply. His vows were all there were… but they weren't. Even after all those years, Arthur was of Dorne. Deeply in his mind, in the very heart of his soul, he was Dornish. When he heard his brothers talking of Dornish snakes, Dornish licentiousness, Dornish plots, that made his blood boil, yet he could only grit his teeth and pretend that he had left it all behind. And in truth, it didn't happen all that often. But now, Gerold Hightower didn't look inclined to talk on any other topic.

"What about her? She must be doing something to preserve her looks, for she's just as lovely as she was in her time at court. She was as insufferable even then, though."

_If by insufferable you mean able to hold her own, let be it_ , Arthur thought. For all his respect for the Gargalen siblings, he could see the Lord Commander's point. Despite being as physically different from each other as one could imagine, they both still possessed the charisma that had made their names famous through the realm – the handsome and fierce consort of the Lady of Dorne who had defended her rule and carried out her decisions in Dorne, the Reach, the Stormlands, and Essos, leaving a trail of battles and scandals, and the tragic bride in a blood-bespattered gown, the woman who had borne a child without being sure of the identity of the father, the sorceress who had ensnared a prince into marrying her despite the fact that her reputation had been frayed around the edges.

"Even Prince Aemon thought so," Hightower went on. "He often asked to borrow her tongue to sharpen his sword. Oh how they quarreled! He's the luckiest man in the world. As a man, as a physique he was ruined after Summerhall. I saw him at their wedding. He was nothing like the man he used to be. He couldn't even walk for long without catching his breath. His burns…"

_Yes_ , Arthur wanted to encourage him. _What about his burns?_ He knew that it was not true. Aemon Targaryen was far from ruined, although he had sustained some damages at Summerhall. But he could not say it. The Prince hated his health to be discussed and Arthur was far too loyal to go against his wishes.

"And yet he got the most beautiful woman in the world to fall in love with him. Did you see her? Did you? Can you imagine how she was when she was young?"

Jaime Lannister gave Arthur a helpless look and even Oswell Whent looked at a loss. "Well," he finally said. "It would be logical for her to wed him when she had the chance. With a past like hers…"

The Lord Commander started nodding vigorously, his cheeks and nose bright red. "It would be logical," he repeated and gulped down his wine again. "Right. Everything in life is logical, there's nothing illogical. Except for our many vows and Aelinor Gargalen's marriage. This beauty clung to a cripple. Oh my! When I think of what a fabulous beauty this woman was."

This was the point where Arthur felt that he could take it no longer. He murmured an excuse and headed for his cell. After all, it wasn't as if the Lord Commander would remember of this monologue in the morning – and if he did, he might even feel embarrassed. At least, Arthur hoped so.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those unfamiliar with my Targaryen stories: Alric has Targaryen blood through his mother Daella Targaryen, a daughter of King Maekar I. So, Elia has dragon lineage from both sides but it looks like the Targaryen colouring isn't too strong when they marry outsiders, so she looks pure Dornish, just like her parents.


	4. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who keep me inspired to write by leaving a review.

"What in the name of the Seven is happening here?"

The question was quite rhetorical since the sight was more than revealing: Aegon had made his way to the kitchens, stolen a still warm cake, placed in on a table in his mother's chambers, climbed on a chair and was now licking at the still liquid frosting…

Aelinor was laughing. Elia shook her head and thought that she could not part with her son. She felt that she would die if she did, literally – her heart would just stop beating.

"What are you doing?" she asked sternly. "Did you ask the cooks whether you уеиe allowed to take this cake out?"

He looked down, clearly not having an excuse at the ready. "You should go there and apologize," Elia ordered. "You cannot just steal the fruit of other people's labour, Aegon."

"But it tastes so good!" he argued, his purple eyes shining. "Come on," he invited. "Do you want some?"

He had addressed the last words to Naeryn. Elia was not surprised – children usually took up to her cousin immediately after meeting her and Aegon had been no exception. Naeryn raised an eyebrow. "Will I have to lick?" she asked.

The boy shook his head eagerly. "Come on," he said. "We'll find you a spoon."

He took her by the wrist to lead her somewhere. Elia noticed that it was the malformed arm that he had gripped; her son didn't pull away from touching Naeryn's deformity and once again, she thought that leaving him would be the death of her. But she had to do it for his future's sake.

* * *

She stood in front of her looking-glass, scowling at the pale apparition staring back at her. She now knew why her aunt had prohibited her from looking at her reflection but for the life of her, she could not understand why Aelinor had decided to make her look frailer than she already was. As if it was not enough that she was exhausted and ashen with grief, Aelinor had decided to apply face paint that made her waxy and added a touch of additional pain to her face. And she would not even start on the gown.

Naeryn who had just entered collected her jaw from the floor and looked at her mother in silent astonishment.

"Trust me," Aelinor told both of them. "I know what will work."

"Thinking that Elia might faint in his manly feet?" Naeryn guessed.

Aelinor smiled briefly, arranging her headdress. "You aren't too far from the truth," she said. "I've known Anders Yronwood since our youth. That's the image that will work on him." She paused. "My sister Myara's face," she finished, barely audibly.

Elia sighed, suddenly reluctant to proceed. "Is my father going to attend?" she asked.

Aelinor shook her head. "You have to do it on your own. If he's with you now, Yronwood will never accept you as your own woman. I'd rather not attend either but it cannot be avoided."

Elia rose and walked out of the bedchamber, proceeding to her presence chamber. There, she sat on her upholstered chair. Aelinor drew unobtrusively in the background where a soft-cushioned chair awaited her. Naeryn went to part the curtains, let the sunshine in.

The Master of Ships entered shortly after. As he bent the knee in front of her, Elia's eyes went over his graying hair, his strong, clean-shaved jaw and muscular arms. Big and burly, sharp and quick-witted, the head of the second most powerful House of Dorne had always been the kind of man she liked. _He would have made a good Prince_ , she thought, _a descendant of a long line of kings._

"My lord," she said, "I am grateful for your answering at such a short notice."

He inclined his head. "My lady," he said and a jolt went through her. "It's my duty to serve you."

Of course. Now she was, theory at least, his princess.

"Please accept my deepest condolences," he added.

Elia pointed him at a chair in front of a small table set with Dornish wine and blood oranges. "Thank you, my lord," she said. "As saddened I am by my recent loss, I have my duty to think about." She paused. "As do you, I have no doubt, for no true Dornishman or woman could fail but be moved by the threat looming over us."

His eyes widened slightly, he was clearly shocked by her candour. She went on, calmly. "You've known me for years, my lord, as a queen as loyal to her king as you are in your capacity as Master of Ships. But my king is ill prepared to let a woman rule in her own right what he perceives as his right by the virtue of his marriage to me."

"The Targaryen inheritance customs are indeed unfortunate," he agreed cautiously, "where women are concerned."

She smiled a little and gestured for the table. He shook his head. "I am touched by your hospitality, Your Grace," he said, "but I am unwell."

Though not unexpected and indeed, quite logical, Oberyn's history with the old Lord Yronwood considered, his refusal stung her with the shoot of worry and tension. She raised her hand to her head before she could stop it and for a moment, she glimpsed a sad and bitter look in his eyes as if he had remembered something long gone, long forgotten.

She brought her hand down, looked at him, taking into consideration all she had heard about him, his behavior since he had come to court, his reaction when the Fat Flower had insulted her aunt.

Her hand slowly went to the pocket of her gown and came out with a chipped garnet ring all Dornish lords knew by description if not by a personal look at it. The symbols of Dorne shone at it in pale, worn imprint, the sun and spear that made the name of her city. She did not slip it onto her finger but showed it to him and held it on her palm. "Do you know what this ring means, my lord?" she asked.

He nodded. "He or she who wears it speaks with the voice of Dorne."

"I have it," she said. "Those fools in the Council think I'll let my husband take Dorne from me and my fellow Dornishmen. But they are wrong…"

"My lady," he interrupted. "Say no more. I cannot listen to you in good faith…"

Elia studied him in the sunlight. His inner fight was evident. He would hate to support a Martell at anything but he would also hate to see Dorne subdued. And the fact that he sat in Rhaegar's Small Council made it all harder, added another loyalty to be considered. _A good and noble man_ , she thought again. _A man who's striving to do the right thing. He would have made a great prince._

"I am not asking you to act against your conscience," she said. "I am not plotting against the Iron Throne. In fact, I am not asking you to act at all. All I want of you is your neutrality. Do not sway those in Dorne you have influence over either way. I can manage the rest of it."

His eyes did not leave her face. Elia returned his look evenly, serenely. She meant what she said. She leaned closer. "I'd like to see the past left behind, my lord," she said. "You'll never rule Dorne as kings again, any part of it. You know it and I know it. But we'll need your support if we want to hold Dorne strong. And I do realize that this support is not something you'd give lightly." She paused. "I will elevate you above all others, my lord. I'll never deprive your House of the respect it deserves. But I need your support. Dorne needs it if we're to keep it strong and _Dornish_."

He was silent, pondering over her words. Then, he reached for a blood orange and Elia heaved a sigh of relief. "I said I'd preserve the dignity of your House, my lord," she said. "And I truly mean it. Your heir is not married yet and sadly, the plague took away his betrothed. Would a bride of my own blood and the Targaryen line be enough to show my sincerity?"

His breath caught. His eyes went to the other woman in the room. Aelinor Targaryen nodded, a slight smile on her lips. "My daughter Vaella is not yet spoken for," she said. "And my husband and I could hardly dream of a better match."

Lord Yronwood swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He knew Elia Martell was right. They would never rule Dorne again. But their line was a long and noble one and the match would bring them even more prestige in Dorne and the rest of the realm, for Vaella was of Aegon V's line. She bore the Targaryen _name_. In fact, given her lineage and the fact that both her parents were King Maekar's grandchildren, the blood of the dragon ran in her veins more undiluted than it did in the King's. The fact that the match offered a family tie to the highly respected Lord Gargalen was another bonus. He would prefer the older girl, of course, but they probably had another match arranged for her – or were arranging one. This plague had wreaked havoc into the lives of so many…

"This is an offer worthy of a more careful consideration," he said, and she smiled.

"You'll have the time to consider it, my lord. Just don't wait for too long."

He reached for the wine and poured some for all three of them. They drank to Dorne and Elia noticed that he did so first.

"My lord," she said impetuously. "I am in your debt."

He bowed deeply; when he rose, his smile made her blink, for it was a smile of admiration and a little nostalgia. "My lady," he said. "The debt is mine, for you allow me to serve Dorne."

As he left with another bow to the two women, he thought his son would be probably very happy to receive the news, for all of Aelinor Gargalen's daughters were as blessed physically as she was.

* * *

"So," Alric Gargalen said all of a sudden and his black eyes glinted. "I think it's time we talk."

It was hardly the time for talking and the noise of the supper in the great hall made any serious conversation a true challenge but Rhaegar had expected something like this. In the brief week of their acquaintance, Alric had never spoken a word of politics and succession but it was clear that the subject should come up soon. The older man hadn't come to stay indefinitely – at least Rhaegar hoped he hadn't. Alric Gargalen was far from nice, although it had taken him no time at all to make the children love him. Looking at him with Rhaenys, one could almost believe that he was just a doting grandfather. Rhaegar, though, knew better. His goodfather was about as harmless as a snake – his entire life proved it. It was a miracle that Elia had turned out so kind, with parents like hers.

It was a good thing that he never drank heavily. He was entirely clear-headed and alert. "Very well," he said, and rose. "Shall we?" he added, looking at Elia.

She rose and accepted the hand he offered her. Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell followed. As silent as a shadow, Naeryn Sand crept behind them.

In his chambers, Rhaegar lit a few more candles. In the yellow beeswax light, Alric looked older, world-weary, his features grim and severe, locked in tight resolve.

He looked at his daughter. "A terrible event brought me there but I am glad to have seen you." He paused. "I cannot stay forever, though. I have to return. And I have to bring Dorne your answer."

All three of them had been expecting it, yet Elia's face went a little paler. Rhaegar looked at her, concerned. "Are you unwell?" he asked. "Maybe we should postpone this conversation for another time?"

The sudden sense of peril made her sit up straighter. The speculations about her health were bad enough as it was. "There's no need," she denied. "As hard as I am stricken by my brother's loss, I cannot let it stop me from fulfilling from my duty."

Her husband's eyes rested on her with expression that was inscrutable. She had no doubt what Rhaegar considered her duty: to be a gracious and kind queen, devoted to charities and providing good upbringing to their children. Just because she could now rise to the Lady of Dorne did not change things: he would never expect of her to become a _ruling_ Lady of Dorne. He'd expect her to hand this responsibility over to him.

"Yes, of course," her father said. "If so…"

He reached into his doublet and took out the velvet box with the signet ring, the same one she had shown Lord Yronwood. He presented it to her. "If so, the Council of Dornish lords and ladies ask you to leave for Dorne as soon as possible. We've been without a ruler for too long."

Her hand slightly shaking, Elia took the ring she had so often seen on her mother's hand and then Doran's. Arianne had never taken it off, and neither had Doran. She paused, the ring in her finger. Slipping it on would make the change final. There would be no going back. She's turn her back to the life that had offered her some happiness once despite her reluctance to live it. She'd have to assume an enormous burden. And she'd lose her son, forever maybe.

She stared at the faded outlines of the spear and tears blurred her eyes. She choked them back and slipped the ring on her heart finger, lifted her eyes to her father.

"There is just one thing," Alric added. Looking straight at Rhaegar, he said it without preamble. "Dorne does not want you as our lady's consort. It'd rather deny Elia than accept you."

His words were so sudden and rude that even Elia startled. To his credit, Rhaegar didn't bat an eyelid. "Is that so? Who says it?"

"I do," Alric replied. "And Lord Gargalen my brother. Lord Manwoody. Lady Blackmont. Lord Qorgyle and Lord Jordayne. All those lords and ladies who signed this," he finished and handed Elia a piece of parchment. She perused it and then passed it to Rhaegar whose eyes widened.

"And you're ready to unleash a civil war in Dorne just because of your dislike of me?"

Alric snorted. "My feelings don't matter. Indeed, the thought of supporting my son against my daughter is just as repellent to me as the idea of supporting my daughter against my son. But if I have to choose, I'll have to back Oberyn up."

Rhaegar couldn't believe it. "He's a disaster!"

"Yes," Alric agreed. "But a _Dornish_ disaster he is."

The fight of brains was ready to start.

 


	5. Knives and Cradles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you are awesome and you all get a virtual cookie each (not made by me since I would not do this to you).

In the week following that first exchange everything looked cordial to the untrained eye: Alric and his retinue attended the lavish feasts Rhaegar gave each night, were attentive to Rhaella, exchanged pleasantries with the members if the Small Council, flirted with noble ladies, and even treated Lyanna with polite indifference. Even more amazing, they did not cause conflicts with the people from the Reach, although they never left one unresolved if such arose. But that was just good manners and behind closed doors, tempers flared and while downright insults had yet to be exchanged, mutual suspicions grew by each day; both sides' intransigence gave edge to each and every conversation.

In the ninth day since the beginning, mid-afternoon saw an unexpected visitor to Alric's lodgings. Sure, Elia knew that her father had left the Red Keep immediately after the midday feast but she had decided she'd wait for him no matter how long. And well, it turned out to be _quite_ long. She had already walked the distance from King's Landing to Dorne, surely, when she heard the door opening and turned around, ready to start talking, but the words died in her throat when she saw it wasn't her father coming in.

"Where is Rhaenys?" Rhaegar asked, as if they were just continuing a conversation they had ended just a few moments ago, as if it was fully expected of him to burst into Alric's rooms to talk to his wife when the truth was, he now rarely entered her chambers without being announced – despite her best efforts, Elia had been unable to play along with his pretences that their relationship had not changed at all, so at the end, he had stopped trying.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why, my lord father has taken her outside."

Rhaegar shrank her with a look. "Without permission," he retaliated. "Who does he think he is?"

"He had permission," Elia said. "Mine," she elaborated. "As to who he is, he's my father and you'd better not forget it." Her voice turned cold. "Given her experience with her _other_ grandfather, I cannot blame you for being cautious but your mistrust is quite misplaced. Rhaenys is perfectly safe with him."

Rhaegar blushed and looked aside, suddenly realizing how stupid he ought to look in her eyes. For all his dislike of Rhaegar that he didn't even bother to hide, Alric would never harm Elia, and Rhaenys was part of Elia, too. Besides, his goodfather wanted Rhaenys to inherit Dorne. He had all the incentives in the world to keep her safe and not one to harm her. The very fact that Rhaegar had thought he might – seven hells, he still didn't _feel_ comfortable knowing that she was with Alric – showed just how badly things with Dorne were festering.

"He hates me, doesn't he?"

Elia sank on the nearest coffer, as if she couldn't be bothered to go to the chair. "Why would you think so?"

"I can see it in his eyes."

She sighed. "Very well, he isn't too fond of you," she admitted as he, too, took a seat.

Looking at him, she saw him fighting to bite back the retort that it was quite disingenuous of Alric's to make so much out of what he perceived as Rhaegar's straying given his own marital past, and she grinded her teeth, so she would not spat that his escapades had nothing to do with her father's dislike. There were things like humiliation and political complications… but he would never take them into account, not while he was still so engrossed in achieving his prophecy. Elia would never forgive him for that. Really, he _wanted_ to bring the storm all over the world, just so his heads of the dragons could be the heroes? Elia just wanted to see them grow up. Prepare them the best way she could about their lives and responsibilities. She wanted to become a grandmother one day, for the Mother's sake! But such mundane concerns could barely touch the mind of the man who lived for the prophecy and believed its fulfillment would solve everything else.

Once, she had tried to be understanding. But his actions born out of prophetical-lusty feelings had depleted her empathy quite thoroughly. Now, she would never tell him just how disastrous his actions had been for her own family on her father's side. She felt that talking about it would demean her dead, for he had never thought to ask of all the lives lost except for those he had been made aware of. She would not ask for his regret. There were enough of those who mourned them.

"Why are you so obstinate?" she asked all of a sudden. "You don't even want me. Many of your lords are set against your Dornish queen anyway. They'll be only too glad to see my back. And you cannot have Dorne."

"Can't I?" he asked, very softly. "For real?"

All of a sudden, Elia smiled at the absurdity of it all. "You can try," she said, quite indifferently. "We both know how wars between Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms end, don't we?" Her smile grew, for it was really amusing. "I didn't think you wanted to be king of the Six Kingdoms."

He sighed. "It's all talk. Oberyn loves you too well to ever infringe upon what's yours."

"That's right," Elia agreed. "But then, you don't really mean for it to become mine, don't you? My brother knows that. All of Dorne does."

She made it sound like he wanted to rob her. He hadn't known that she even had this biting wit about her – by temper, she was not sarcastic. It felt strange that he was getting to know a new side of her just when they were going on their separate ways.

The cold afternoon light bathed her in grey. Rhaegar looked at her – and he was stunned by the change that had crashed upon her all of a sudden. Or maybe it had been encroaching on her slowly for years – the years they had spent not looking at each other. Avoiding looking at each other. Her features were still beautiful and finely chiseled but they had lost the softness that had once appealed to him so. She still looked serene but he could see it was a mask while once, it had not been so. Not with him. There had been a time when she had been genuinely happy to see him, had delighted in his company. The trials she had gone through had turned her into a prematurely aged woman who was always on the alert, waiting for the new strike to fall. He looked aside, shame and guilt rising.

"Has it not occurred to you," he asked softly, "that I might not want to let you go?"

Elia gave him an astonished look. All this time, she had taken it for granted that he wanted to be rid of her as much as she wanted to be rid of him. _Dear gods, is it possible that he's been hoping we could regain what we once had?_ For Elia, it had been over since the moment he took off with the little Northern girl so publicly while she could still not even visit the latrine on her own after giving him an heir. She had never stopped to think that he might have thought he might salvage something. That he had thought he could have it all – passion with his new wife and the companionship he had once enjoyed with Elia. Once again, she realized that he did not know her at all – and never had. She was a woman who was always ready to give someone a new chance, even him, and she had. He had clearly forgotten how hard he had worked to gain her forgiveness after Harrenhall. After his elopement with the Stark girl, there could be no forgiveness even if she tried – which she did.

Her affection for him was dead and buried, yet now she felt a sense of loss and sadness for what once had been. That had not been either the life she had chosen for herself, or the husband she would have chosen given the chance but for a while, she had believed it might work.

"No," she said. "It has never occurred to me."

"Do you hate me so much?"

Elia shook her head. She felt nothing about him, not even derision. He was just a stranger who had no place in her life and she wanted none in his. She didn't tell him that, though. Her best chance to achieve her freedom was to make him believe she'd be more amenable than Oberyn. Indeed, she would, because that was just how she was. The problem was that right now, she felt anything but amenable… If he could take a peek in her head, he'd never let her go. In fact, he would probably place her under guard!

Of course, if he got to know her secret, he would never let her go anyway, war and world be damned.

"Let me go, Rhaegar," she said. "Let's go of each other before we start truly hating."

"I could never hate you," he said.

She could have told him the same thing. And it would even be true, probably. But she didn't.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. The doors were thrown open and Alric Gargalen entered with his sister and Rhaenys clinging to his hand. Naeryn and their companion Elvar Sand followed. Arthur Dayne was the last once in the procession, his hand ready to his sword.

Rhaenys ran to Elia as soon as she saw her and started babbling an excited tale about her adventures in the market. Aelinor made a swift curtsey and sank on the nearest couch. Satisfied that his charge was safely returned to her parents, Arthur bowed and left. Rhaegar noticed how pale and drawn he was. His time with his countrymen hadn't done him any favours.

"And we bought an array of knives!" Rhaenys went on. "I want to learn to use them. Teach me, Grandfather!"

Alric grinned. "We'll see," he said. "If you're well-behaved… But these aren't your knives, you know. They are for Lady Nym. If you prove to be a quick learner, I might buy you one of your own."

Rhaegar almost opened his mouth to interject that his daughter would definitely not be using knives for anything else but cutting her food. Yet Rhaenys looked so happy that he didn't find it in him to spoil her joy.

A veritable army of servants followed with the purchases from today. Rhaenys immediately fished out the knives – and Naeryn took them out of her hands just as immediately. Elia went for the fabrics and then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the huge cradle of golden oak that two men were bringing in.

"It's for Alynna," Aelinor explained. "Lady Dayne, my niece," she added by the way of explanation to Rhaegar. "Just before we set on our journey, she gave birth to a lovely boy and girl. As far as I know, there isn't a double cradle at Starfall since twins never ran heavily in the Dayne line. That's Alynna's second set of twins and there is a cradle in Saltshore. But I thought she and Arel would love to have something of their own, not a remnant of the past."

The cradle was smooth and glassy, with a delicate design of various animals on both sides and a few rows of silver bells that sang as Elia rocked it. Her motions were slow and pained, her head bowed. She didn't look at Rhaegar and he didn't look at her. The room suddenly felt darker, dead, a dwell of whys and might have beens.

 


	6. Southern Courtship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

In the warm glow of dawn, the men and women looked even more annoyed and tired at being dragged out of bed so early and unexpectedly. Traveling through the desert was never an easy undertaking and they had not quite left it behind. Sure, Lord Uller was more than an excellent host and their staying at Hellholt had been a nice one. It had only been too short because their lady decided to only give them as much time as they needed to recover their strength and not a day longer. She was eager to go back to Blackmont as soon as possible. Sure, the plague had been limited mainly to Sunspear and the land around it but there had been outbreaks here and there all over Dorne. Their home had not been spared, although the plague there had not unleashed as much malice as it had in House Martell's seat.

Larra Blackmont listened to their disquiet with a tightened face. Once or twice, she almost snapped at them to keep quiet, for her head was throbbing. The news from last night had awoken the damned snake of her agonizing headaches… well, if she had to be fair, it was not only the news. Since the beginning of that thrice cursed plague troubles had been heaping one after another. She had hoped for a few more days of rest as much as the members of her household had. But it was not to be.

She rubbed her bloodshot eyes with her so very weary hand and stood up straighter as she saw her host approaching her.

"My lady," he said, taking her aside so they could speak in private. "I'd rather have you stay here. I'll be happy to have you in Hellholt until a proper escort could be summoned from Blackmont."

Larra shook her head. "It'll only make the clash uglier. Have you been appraised of the precise number of the men waiting in ambush?" she asked and he had to admit that no, he hadn't.

"Symon Santagar is not a man to give up so easily," the woman said. "If he wants to have me, he'll try to get to me, no matter how strong an escort I have."

"And he'll drag you to the nearest septon around to perform a wedding ceremony as soon as you're… reconciled with the inevitable."

Larra's mouth twitched in a parody of a smile. What a tactful description of abduction and rape! But she had no doubt that abduction and rape would be her fate once she was on the road again. The plague had taken her husband, leaving her free to wed again – to anyone who succeeded in forcing her to! The turmoil with the balance of power disturbed so between Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn _– and let's not forget the bloody King and the even bloodier Yronwoods_ , she went on in her aching head – empowered every villain around to try his luck in whatever monstrosity would bring them the biggest prize without fear of being brought to justice because highborn had more important things to deal with. Larra was such a prize.

"You can stay here for as long as you need to," Lord Harmen insisted, and this time she really smiled.

"Till the end of my life?" she asked. "I thank you but I really have to reach home as soon as possible."

He sighed. "The boat is ready for you," he said. "I'd rather provide you with a proper ship but – "

"But I have a better chance to go unnoticed if I don't make myself conspicuous," she finished for him, looking at her male breeches and tunic, both quite coarse. Irritated skin was the least of her concerns, though. "Again, thank you. Now, I have to explain it to my men why we should make haste."

She did so without many words, for such were not truly needed. Shouts of outrage swiftly trailed when Larra reminded her knights that no, they could not be sure that they'd be able to stop the brigands from taking her. They could well die in the attempt though.

Lord Uller led them by the riverside to the waiting barge. Larra could see that he had done his best to provide for her safety, sending his most skilled sailors and a few men-at-arms whose swords were hidden beneath a great canvas in the centre of the boat.

"I've sent word to Starfall," Larra said once her party was aboard. "Lord Dayne will send a few boats to meet us and escort us to the castle. From there, it'll be easy to reach my own territory."

Her handmaiden only looked at her in mute horror. Larra seated herself on a pile of wool and tried not to show that she felt the same.

* * *

The swift steps made Elvar Sand open his eyes as soon as he realized that they were headed in one direction – his own. He recognized the woman immediately and heaved a sigh. One would think that the Red Keep was big enough for a single man to hide for an hour. Just an hour. Was it so much to ask?

"Why are you sitting here in the cold?"

"Want to take a seat?" he offered and moved a little on the bench. Naeryn, though, only gave it a doubtful look. Had it been wooden, she might have accepted her cousin's proposal but it was marble and sure to freeze her lady bits off.

"I'm looking for Elia. Do you know where she might have gone?"

"No idea," he said and then decided to irk her, just a little. "Are you sure she isn't in the King's bed?"

"It isn't funny, Elvar," his cousin snapped. "There's been a letter from Dorne. Starfall, of all places. A bunch of letters, in fact."

Now, he almost rose, his worry tickled. "Arel and Alynna? They _both_ wrote?"

"Yes, I think. As well as Larra Blackmont. Her letter was delivered by the same raven."

What the hell was going on in Dorne? Suddenly, Elvar was all concern. They had been tarrying here for too long, playing the game of thrones while innocents might be paying the price already. Were there brigands who roamed Dorne already? Had they chased Larra away from Blackmont? After a great plague, such things were common occurrence. Alric Gargalen had met Elvar's mother as she had been running away in the lieu of such a disaster. True, it had been in Essos but men were the same here and there. Human nature did not change.

"Go on and look for Elia," he said. "I'll try to find Yronwood. He must give us his support fully and make it known. We might know he's on our side but those who rely on a potential conflict to draw benefits from themselves don't."

All of a sudden, Naeryn smiled. "He will," she said, with certainty that could only mean one thing.

"You already made a short work out of it? When did you find the time!"

"A week after our arrival," she said, as smug as a cat licking cream from her whiskers. "Do you care to hear the details?"

"By the Seven, no!" Oberyn might enjoy it but as similar as he and his half-brother were, that was one thing they differed in.

"I didn't think you would. Well, he isn't the one for pillow talk. But he's of noble character. Once he gives his word, he'll keep it. We have nothing to fear from him." She smiled once again. "I'll make sure to be there when the King realizes that either way, he's lost."

"Save a seat for me," he said, and she gave him a quizzical look before laughing.

"I knew you disliked him but I have no idea you disliked him this much!"

He gave her a look of utter surprise. "Why? I thought it would be obvious. We lost so many for this stupid romance of his. And he neglects Elia shamefully."

"All the more reason to have this sham of a marriage dissolved," Naeryn said. "She's been sleeping alone for what, five years now?"

_Six_ , Elvar thought but deemed it wiser not to correct her. In truth, he didn't mind Rhaegar not bedding Elia all this much – but he found it distasteful that the bloody silver king could not even visit her chambers at night, to make it _look_ like he cared. Worse, in this court Elia could not even risk taking a lover, so she truly slept alone.

Alas, if the letters really spoke of troubles brewing, Elia's needs would have to make room for Dorne's. They could not linger here forever. As much as he hated the idea of leaving his sister here, he would do it if need be.

"I wonder what makes him think he _deserves_ Dorne," his cousin went on, thankfully in a low voice. "Because he's been such a loving, attentive husband? Because he brought only good to Dorne? I don't think he realizes how Dorne truly feels about him. Seven hells, I think he doesn't realize how Elia _doesn't_ feel about him."

"She doesn't?" Elvar asked, confused.

Naeryn looked up at the annoyingly grey sky. "I swear, Elvar, you know as much about women as that milkblood Elia was in love with!"

It took him a moment to follow her. "No one in Sunspear would even think of Elia loving her husband, so I suppose it's Arthur we're flaying now?"

"Of course I mean Arthur," Naeryn said. "Since he donned this white cloak, his blood has turned to milk, as pale as his sword! And to think what a man he used to be…"

"… at seventeen when he seduced you… or was it the other way around?" He laughed and ducked to avoid the fingers reaching for his shoulder to squeeze it not quite in jest. But he was not quite as merry as he tried to look like. Despite Naeryn's many affairs – and who could blame her? Her bastardy made making a good match hard and her deformity made it virtually impossible – he had always thought there was something sad and touching in the way she treated men. It was as if she was trying to prove to herself that he missing hand didn't matter, that all that mattered was that she was beautiful and capable to seduce any powerful man she wished. Again, Elvar could not blame her. He understood her, even, although he wished it wasn't so.

"Either way, he cannot be trusted," Naeryn went on and he nodded. It would have been much easier if they did not have to hide their true plans from the man standing guard at Elia's door most of the time but they had to work with what they had. Elvar felt an unwanted pang of pity for the younger man, for he and Arthur had gotten along well as children. Oh, Rhaegar's plan had been perfect. Not where the silly girl was concerned but in making Arthur an accomplice in the affair. Now, Elia could never trust Arthur again, for he had been sent to King's Landing with a sole purpose – to be _her_ protector, first and foremost. Rhaegar had been aware of it, _agreed_ to it – and with a single blow he had severed the tie, isolating Elia from yet another Dornishman who could have supported her in her attempts to prevent Rhaegar from actually marrying the girl, making her more dependent on him. And Arthur had agreed to it, honouring his vow even when he knew Rhaegar had broken his part of the arrangement with Dorne. A masterstroke, indeed.

"My father doesn't agree," Elvar said lightly, and she gave him a startled look but before she could say something, Rhaenys ran through the garden gate.

"Mama has been looking for you," she cried and they swiftly rose and made haste to hear what the bad news were.

* * *

"So, there were _two_ abduction attempts?" Aelinor asked incredulously. "Santagar _and_ the young Dayne?"

"There will be more," Alric predicted darkly. "Each time she leaves Blackmont, she'll be in danger of eager… suitors. She was very lucky that Arel had the good sense to send more men following her in secret, besides the men from Blackmont and those he officially gave her. Without them, they could not have overcome the men of High Hermitage."

No one dared to disrupt the heavy silence that had fallen over Elia's solar. In a land unsure of who its ruler was or even that there was a ruler, heiresses could not be safe or rather, they would be even more unsafe than usual. Larra Blackmont had spent months as a widow once before taking a second husband – but that had been at the time when Doran's hand had still held Dorne in its gentle but inescapable grip.

"She could not even cross from Starfall to Blackmont without an accident," Elia said, as if they hadn't all heard the contents of the letter.

The fire in the huge hearth was burning low; without losing time to summon a servant, Alric grabbed the fire tongs and started prodding it to coax some heat out of it. "Alynna is enraged," he said. "She hasn't seen Lanore in more than a year, yet Mikkel doesn't dare to send the child to her even with a numerous guards, for the very same reason Lady Larra is unsafe. There are already those waiting for her to set a foot out of Salt Shore."

Everyone shuddered. Alynna's eldest daughter from her first marriage was her grandfather's heir – and she had seen but _eleven_ namedays. The very thought of a child being abducted and wedded was beyond terrible. But the truth was, there was only one way for the abductor to make sure that the marriage would not be dissolved and that was to _bed_ her. _The situation is spinning out of control even faster than I expected_ , Alynna had written. _I urge you to solve the matter fast, or else I'll start making myself a new gown to celebrate Oberyn coming into inheritance._

She was not being serious, of course, it was her raw anger, concern, and pain speaking. But anyway, she was right. Dorne was becoming more restive with each passing day and they lingered here, losing time. They had to act now. They had to convince Rhaegar see reason… or truly denounce him by denouncing Elia. Every fiber of Alric's being fought against that possibility but what choice did they have? That would almost certainly lead to a war but at least Oberyn would have the authority to set things right in Dorne and rally it before taking the field. For all his wanton ways, he was wildly popular and that would serve him well if need be. Alric could only be grateful that no matter his son's faults, the greed for what belonged to his siblings was not among them.

"What does Lady Larra write?" Elia asked finally, tiredly. "We haven't read her letter yet."

She wasn't eager to, either. No doubt the woman demanded the protection her liege lady owed her and could not provide now.

"The letter was addressed to me," Elvar said and everyone looked at him, startled to realize that he hadn't spoken at all – very unusual for him, for he had an opinion about everything and was never shy of expressing it.

Silently, he handed the letter to Elia who read it and her eyes widened. Then, she read it aloud for the others to hear and they all gasped. It was, quite plainly, a plea for him to come and marry Lady Larra at once before she was forced to accept someone displeasing to her. If Arel and Alynna's accounts were something to go by, she did have a good reason to fear such a thing.

"Things are really not looking good if I come across as pleasing," Elvar finally said, quite sarcastically.

Alric gave him a sharp look. Elia inhaled briefly and managed to stop herself from doing the only thing he would never forgive – tell him that it was all in his imagination. Instead, she tried to appraise him objectively and had to admit that he was right. Fifteen years ago, her half-brother had been a comely, carefree young man who could have a beautiful woman every time he wanted one. Now, the scar was thick, badly healed and disfiguring the left part of his face in a sickening fashion. The blade that had lashed his cheek open had tugged both eye and mouth downward, transforming his face into a repulsive grotesque. He could no longer articulate his words properly, although it was not immediately noticeable, that slight hiss that came out with them through his distorted mouth. He had not lost the eye but it looked almost unmoving. She remembered how in the beginning, she had been always careful not look away from his face, although each time she saw it, she had wanted to scream.

"If I remember correctly, you were always pleasing to her," she finally said. "The two of you were getting along just fine when you happened to be at Sunspear in the same time. She seems to trust you enough to place her future in your hands."

He gave her a sideways look but did not press the matter.

Elia rose. "I think I'll tell Lord Yronwood about these letters right now," she said. "I don't doubt he has his own informants but I think that reminding him of just how bad the situation is will do us some good. He has to declare his support for the Martells openly, make it clear to everyone." She paused. "Rhaegar included."

She looked at Elvar. "You should leave now," she said. "And travel fast. Go to her and marry her. Then, you can join Oberyn or head for the passes to meet me as I travel home… or hear first that my bid has failed. It has to be one or the other. We cannot wait any more. The game is over."

 


	7. Time for Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented. Special thanks to Riana1 and Baelorfan for being the most devoted followers to this story.

The blue chamber in the rooms allotted to Alric had never looked as small as it was now, crowded with old and young, men and women – all those who Alric's party consisted of. Soon, the heat rose, gathered by the warmth of so many bodies while Elia explained what her intentions were.

"Are you sure, my lady?" Lord Jordayne finally asked, with a meaningful look at the Master of Ships. He was far from the only one who found Anders Yronwood's presence more than a little troubling. Alliances were one thing but this might be just too much. Too dangerous.

In the pale candlelight, Elia's face appeared even more drawn, her eyes wide and troubled. But she nodded slowly, taking the pen in a hand that did not tremble. They had not dared to trust with this document to any secretary in the Red Keep, so Alric had been the one to write the text in his own hand. That was the best way – he had nothing to gain by supporting his son over his daughter.

"Sure?" she asked. " Of course I am sure. I trust everyone in this room," she said. "Everyone."

She went to the table and started to sign the document when Alric caught her eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly. From now on, she needed to read everything she signed, no matter how much she trusted the person providing the paper. Even her father was not to be taken in blind trust.

Seventeen pairs of eyes followed her as she read the brief announcement. For a moment, she paused before signing it. The old grief for her mother and the fresh one for Doran gripped her throat; with a lump that looked like it'd never go away, she wrote, for the first time in her life, _I, Lady Elia_.

From that moment on, everything happened in a blur. Alric signed as witness, followed by Lord Yronwood, Aelinor, and everyone present. Elvar and Naeryn were the last ones to affix their signatures to the document. Naeryn dusted it with sand to dry it faster. Looking at her cousin's sure, smooth movements, Elia was suddenly reminded of their childhood, how hard had it been for Naeryn to learn to feed and dress on her own. But she had survived and triumphed against all those who claimed she was only a burden. _I have to be this strong, too_ , Elia thought.

Silently, the men and women started leaving in groups of two or three, some of them stopping to Elvar to wish him luck. Finally, it was only Elia's family and Lord Yronwood who remained. The man slowly approached to Elia; she held her hand out and he bowed his head over it. _How warm his fingers are_ , she thought. _How steady._

"I thank you, my lady," he said, hoarsely. "Thank you for your trust."

She smiled at him. "We are allies, aren't we?"

Strange as it was, she felt no fear that might intercept her letter and give it to Rhaegar or even keep it to use against Oberyn later. Lord Yronwood was a man of honour. And he was of Dorne as much as she was.

He looked at her father and something passed between the two men – grudging acceptance, willingness to overcome hatred that had gone on for thirty years. Then, Yronwood looked at Aelinor and his features were softened by something like a smile. "My son wrote to me," he said. "He's thrilled with the match. Turned out he had already seen Lady Vaella. He can't wait for the wedding to take place."

She smiled for real. "I am pleased to hear that my daughter will have such a devoted husband," she said. Her next words stuck in her throat when she saw the look he gave her _other_ daughter. It looked he couldn't wait for their _bedding_ to take place… again. _I should have known Naeryn wouldn't hesitate to lure him to her bed_ , she thought and swallowed down the rising bitterness. She wanted her daughter to be happy the usual way but it would not happen, with Naeryn herself being so unusual. One day, her youth and beauty would leave her and what would she have then?

Naeryn embraced Elvar and left with Lord Yronwood without bothering to disguise it. Aelinor's breath caught again when the man reached for her daughter's deformed hand, casually, and tucked it in the crook of his elbow.

"Well," Elvar finally said when they were left alone. "That was certainly… interesting."

He looked at his father. "Did he just offer to forgive and forget?"

"He did," Alric said as Elia sank down on a coffer, the effort to sign as Lady of Dorne for a very first time and thus acknowledge Doran's death having sapped her energy.

Alric's drawn face showed that the moment had been taxing for him too. Absent-mindedly, he started for the window, avoiding looking at any of them.

Elia drew a deep breath, bracing herself for the question. "And does he have something to forgive us for?"

She had always known about Oberyn's ways – and she knew who he had inherited them from. And she had always tried not to think about that too much.

For a moment, Alric stayed with his back to them before slowly turning round. There was no apology on his face. He addressed his words to his sister alone, as if it had been she and not Elia who had asked the question. "Edgar Yronwood had to die," he said in a hollow voice. "I wished for his death on the very day of your wedding, Aelinor. Later, I managed to confirm that he was the one who let Maelys Blackfyre loose upon us."

Aelinor closed her eyes and swallowed, her eyes moving behind the eyelids. Then, she reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I thank you," she said, hoarsely.

"And why did you postpone your revenge for so long?" Elia wanted to know.

"If I had come across him in the first few months or even the first few years after, I would have challenged him and killed him upon the spot," her father said. "But he was careful to stay away from us for a while. Later, I could not challenge him without disrupting the peace in Dorne in a very major way. Proven betrayal or not, they were too strong for me to make a move. And he was very careful not to give me a pretext to challenge him."

Elia looked at him in horror because another thought came to her mind. "And when they caught Oberyn with this girl…"

Alric interrupted her immediately, his face flushed with fury. "Of course I told him," he snapped. "Do you really think I'd smear poison over my son's spear and not warn him in advance? What kind of man do you think I am?"

"I am sorry…" Elia started, looked away, met Elvar's eyes and suddenly they both saw the humour in the situation. Their father was so offended by the mere suggestion that he would use Oberyn, yet he clearly thought poisoning the old Yronwood was some kind of badge of honour.

"It's good to know it's over, now," Elvar said and rose from his chair. "I have to leave now," he said. "My things are ready. Sandstorm is waiting for me in the stables."

They all embraced him and he folded the now dry paper. Elia sealed it with her own seal and handed it to him. "Go," she said. "Go. Fly like the wind."

The three of them went out on the terrace and watched as the small party of three made its way out of the gates. When they went to their respective bedchambers, the night had swallowed both Elvar and the parchment that was their best bid.

* * *

The impassiveness Ser Gerold so carefully maintained broke a little when he saw Queen Elia striding purposefully towards the King's study. The cold afternoon light accentuated her sunken features and the shadows beneath her eyes but it also brought out the hard glint in her pupils and the determination in the tight line of her jaw. She waved the Lord Commander away with a gesture that was so imperious that he didn't even think to warn her that the King was in a meeting with some high-ranking officials. He simply bowed and let her pass and then felt silly for doing so.

In the vast chamber, Elia looked around, as usual liking the tidy look of the vast space. Papers, books, and maps were just where they ought to be. Even the writing table was free from all documents but the ones they were currently discussing. Her mother's study had looked like this, although she had preferred wider windows to let more sunlight while Rhaegar was just as pleased with beewax candles.

The two officials gathered there quickly rose to bow. She nodded at them graciously before making her curtsy to the King without smiling.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, my lady?" Rhaegar asked warily. She hadn't come on her own will in his study even once in the last six years unless there was an urgent matter to be discussed. An unpleasant one, usually.

"There is something we need to discuss, Your Grace."

 _Just as I thought._ Rhaegar felt a stir of longing for the old days when she had poked her head in, like a little rabbit, and then drawn it back before entering fully – a gesture that had been their own, one of the many things that made them laugh together. Years ago, she would have seated herself silently, listening to the conversation while the people he was discussing matters with would try to impress her, of course – all but Jon Connington. For some reason, Jon had always disapproved of Elia and Rhaegar had been forced to remind him of his place more than once.

He reluctantly nodded and the men hurried to leave. Elia took a place against him, taking great care to arrange the folds of her creamy gown.

"Well?" he asked when the silence lingered.

Elia took a letter out of her gown and pushed it across the table. He read it, his brow furrowing. "Who is Alynna?" he asked. Judging by the harsh tone, she wasn't someone he'd like to know.

"Her name is Alynna," Elia said. "My cousin. She was intended to be your bride. Lucky you that it did not come to pass."

Rhaegar searched his memory. Indeed, he had heard the name of Alynna Gargalen thrown among the ladies who were suggested as his brides years ago. "Why lucky?" he asked.

Elia smiled sweetly. "Because you wouldn't have survived Harrenhall," she said. "She's much more warm-blooded than me and her brother can put Oberyn to shame. While I stopped both her brother and mine from killing you because I wanted you to stay alive, she would have stopped them just to save the pleasure for herself."

_Harrenhall. It always comes to Harrenhall. For the Mother's sake, it was only a crown of roses!_

His wife, though, did not look willing to delve deeper. "Fortunately, before any firm arrangements could be made, clever Alynna eloped with our cousin Errol – a better man than you'll ever be. And someone who actually _made_ prophecies, instead of reading about them. Somehow, he managed to live his life without being obsessed," she added, smiling once again. "And he warned me not to wed you. That you would bring me only unhappiness in the long run." She paused. "I was ready to accept unhappiness for me, Rhaegar. I still am. But I am not dragging Dorne with me in it. As you can see, even my own kin is not safe while we are fighting here for _my_ inheritance. I will not let Alynna suffer again because of you… she lost too much in the war already."

She looked him in the eye. "Right now, my brother Elvar is riding for Dorne with the document in which I renounce my rights over Dorne. He will give it to Oberyn. And unless I return as my own woman in a very short period of time, Oberyn will use it to establish his power supported by everyone."

"Elvar? You mean, the disfigured one? He's your bastard brother?"

"Yes," Elia said, cautiously. Why was he fixating over such a small, meaningless thing? For a wild moment, she wondered whether her husband had understood the real implications of her words.

"I didn't know you were this close to your father's bastards."

Elia shrugged. "You knew my father had sons out of wedlock."

"You never mentioned him."

"And you never asked," she countered. She wanted to pour herself some wine but she knew she shouldn't let her anxiety show.

He gave her a level look. "I can have him intercepted."

She smiled. "I'd like to see you try. He left long time ago. And you'll have to search through your stables really hard to find a stallion to match his sand steed."

Her words were a barb that Rhaegar didn't miss. He had been actively trying not to notice the lack of the traditional presents Sunspear had sent over ever so often – some of the finest sand steed for the King to ride.

"Anyway," Elia went on and there was suddenly a slight hiss to her voice, something viperish in her eyes. "It won't bring you anything. All of my father's retinue verified my signature with their own. All of them." She paused again. "As well as," she added pointedly, "your Master of Ships."

This time, his paleness showed her that he could no longer pretend indifference to her prattling. It also showed her that she had been right. Lord Anders Yronwood was a man worthy of her trust.

For a moment, Elia enjoyed her triumph before adding the final blow. The most risky one. "You have very little time, Rhaegar," she said. "Very little before Oberyn takes over. When our daughter could have inherited all. But if that's your wish, who am I to judge."

She leaned across the table. "If I am to stay here, we'd better start acting like a family," she said. "Albeit your idea of family sustained a significant change from what _my_ family bargained on when they sent me here. Anyway, since we're family…"

Sunlight felt under an angle that once again revealed mercilessly the toll the last few years had taken from her. _She_ was no longer the young woman her family had sent to him – and the changes beneath her skin were even greater than the ones above. With anger and regret, Rhaegar imagined the bitterness and distrust crawling up in her like a snake that had started its journey from her toes and now resided in her heart. It had not been planned to end like this. She had been supposed to understand or if not, at least forgive him.

"Since we're family," Elia went on, her voice still hissing soft and… lulling? "I think it's time we all know the truth."

All of a sudden, her calm mask fell down and revealed a face contorted with rage. "Let me go, Rhaegar," she said. "Let me go, and take Rhaenys, and give her my name, for Dorne will not suffer a _Targaryen_ ruling over them. Or else I'll tell Lyanna just why you decided that you could not live without her. Why you were too weak to fight your love for her. Why you were so thrilled to hear that she was with child when she was terrified, for she only wanted freedom."

He actually rose, fierce and disbelieving. He could vividly imagine Lyanna's reaction, the rage, the rejection. She regretted ever having agreed to run away with him enough as it was already. "You wouldn't."

She met his eye without flinching. "Try me."

"If you wanted to do it, you would have done so years ago, when I first brought her here. You don't hate her this much."

"I don't hate…" she repeated, then shook her head incredulously and then startled him: she laughed. "You think I'll tell her because I hate her? By the gods, Rhaegar, you do have quite the opinion about yourself! I don't hate her at all. I pity her. I kept silent because I saw no reason to be punishing. The poor little fool has punished herself enough already. But I will tell her, not to punish her. I will do it to punish you. At least I won't be the only one suffering in this hell you call marriage!"

He started to move around the room, suppressing his urge to hit her, terrified that he wouldn't be able to suppress it for too long. But Elia was not helping his good intentions: as if drawn by his rage that was trying to make a match for her own, she moved parallel to him. It was a strange, bizarre dance of anger and disappointment.

It was as if a dam had been unleashed within her: all of a sudden, the anger she had suppressed for so long was too great to be contained any longer. She added, smiling once again, "Well, I survived years in your bed knowing that you were only aiming to get your heads of the dragon, so I suppose your warrior she-wolf will, too. And who knows, you might even succeed in convincing her that I was lying to her."

He stopped all of a sudden, reached out to shake her, checked himself in time. "You will do it? You were one of the very few people in this entire realm whom I fully trusted! More fool I – I thought you were smart enough to understand."

"You thought I was a wall you could talk to," she mocked. "When, exactly, did you confide in me, my lord? When I disappointed you by not dying helpfully to let you free to marry a new bride after the birth of the son who was not enough? When you came back and tried to explain it all to me – the danger this girl is to my children by her very existence to this day and for decades after her death, my kinsmen's deaths, my own humiliation – with a _prophecy_? One that you got wrong _again_ , at that! When did you ever _listen_ to my advice?"

They stared at each other, breathing heavily. Elia swallowed, determined not to show the fear that was gripping her. Never before had she felt physically threatened by Rhaegar. The memories of Aerys came back roaring in her mind.

"I didn't want it to come to this," she managed and her voice got steadier. "But I will tell her if I must." She even managed a taunting smile. "Of course, by then Oberyn might have very well proclaimed Dorne an independent realm once again and then… you know how it is. 'This is Dorne. You are not wanted here, return at your peril.' Naturally, I'd like for my son to rule over a strong unified kingdom and his best chance is to have Dorne ruled by his sister but alas…" She faked a sigh. "Who knows, maybe it's worth losing Dorne – and other kingdoms following its example, no doubt – to keep me here. After all, the entire realm knows how much you love me."

For a moment, she thought she had gone too far. Her own fear had led her to an outburst that was far from her usual behavior. But well, what had her usual behavior brought her? At least now he'd put an end – a terrible end, maybe, but an end anyway. Instead, he fought to regain his composure.

"Get out," he said tonelessly.

Taking her time, she smoothed the folds of her gown and moved towards the door, keeping her eyes on him all the time. In the hallway, Ser Gerold tried to look indifferent but he could not quite keep his curious eyes off her.

Only when she went round the corner did Elia lean against the wall, her heart beating as if she had just run ten miles.

* * *

"Admiring men from better times?"

The sound of the familiar voice made Arthur turn around, with his back to the portrait of Lord Alor Gargalen, bastard, Princess Daella's husband, a marine captain, Master of Ships, and Hand of the King. It was not a portrait in the true meaning of the word, it was more like a moment caught from life and engraved in the painter's memory – a young man, strong and slim, staring out at the sea and the sails of the waiting ship, a man in his prime.

"Something like this, my lord," he answered cautiously, for it was always a good thing to be cautious around Alric. Elia's father did not bother to hide his distrust and derision of Arthur. _I cannot deny that he has a good reason to feel this way._ In truth, Arthur was very surprised that Alric still hadn't found a pretext to challenge him, with the underlying reason well known to both of them. _I did abandon his daughter in her hour of need and he knows it._ _My oath is not an excuse that will wash with him. And the fact that I am wielding Dawn won't stop him either._ But this time Alric looked suspiciously conciliatory which immediately put Arthur on the alert. "I was quite impressed by the likeness."

"Were you?" Alric's voice held a strange note. "How could you? You didn't know my father in his later years, let alone his prime."

"But I knew your brother," Arthur said softly, looking at the portrait again, and the name and portrait conjured a memory they both held in their hearts. Carral Gargalen, a marine captain, head of the Dornish fleet, man of easy charm, sharp wit, and iron will. Dead of five years. As usual, Alric felt the familiar mix of anger, grief, and guilt that grasped him each time he thought of his brother and nephews, executed by Robert Baratheon after the Battle at Summerhall. Alric was never the one to sail under false colours, even in front of himself. He knew the only reason he had been spared was the fact that he was Doran's father. Baratheon wasn't _this_ feral with rage.

"Ah, so you remember him," he said and with something like relief, Arthur recognized Alric's return to his usual self. "I thought you didn't even know we were any more… sitting idle in a tower in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but guard someone who was in no danger at all would do that to a person."

He was taken aback when Arthur went ashen. _What in the seven hells is that?_ He had intended only a small blow that the stupid boy fully deserved. Instead, he had hit a vital organ and he had no idea _how_ he had done it.

And then the air was sucked away from his lungs. Arthur's eyes, looking up at Alor's face – Carral's face – with guilt, remorse, and horror that time had not soothed nearly enough told him the answer of all his wonderings. Arthur's face was lashed open now, as much as Elvar's had once been, for those who could read it.

"I understand you now," Alric said softly, his anger disappeared, for he, too, had made selfish choices. He could understand selfishness – even if he could not forgive yet. "Come on. Let's get out of here. Don't look at him. It's over and you aren't making amends to him by ruminating over your own part in this."

"Will you give me away?" the younger man asked in a choked voice.

Alric shook his head. "I won't. And anyway, life will soon punish you more severely than I could. Soon, I'll have my daughter back. In Dorne where she belongs. And my lovely granddaughter, as well. And you'll have your vows and your regrets."

It was not a blow. It was a simple statement of fact. Arthur went out in the first warmer day in months, with people laughing and sun caressing his face, and felt like the loneliest person in the Seven's realms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, the reason behind Alric's vendetta against the old Lord Yronwood and the sad events of his sister's wedding are detailed in my other story, Love to Live.


	8. Clash of Worlds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Baelorfan and Riana1 for being such amazing reviewers! Everyone who follows the story, consider this chapter my birthday treat for you. My present for MY birthday, I mean, and no, this ancient lady is not telling you how many years she's turning today.

The training yard was one of the places Arthur loved best. There was something soothing in the familiar ritual: check your weapon, step forward, start the motions, meet the opponent's blade. But it was also… tedious. Very few knights were willing to spar with him and he knew his sworn brothers' tactic by hand, from Jaime's sudden attacks that sucked one like vortex to Gerold's way of turning it all about strength when one least expected it. The King had little new to show by now, too. Predictability was starting to weigh upon Arthur and he caught himself looking more than once, with longing eyes, at another corner of the yard where his fellow Dornishmen were exercising. He would have given anything for a practice with one of them, the boys he had grown up competing against, the men he had observed when very young, learning by their example. But of course, none of them would have anything to do with him. His being complicit in the insult against their princess aside, many of them had relatives who had found themselves Elia's fellow hostages while Arthur had been killing time in the Tower of Joy, completely unaware of what was going on in King's Landing. Seven hells, I was completely unaware even when it came to the events in Starfall. His own brother had been going through one of the most haunting periods in his life with Arthur just

"So?" Alric Gargalen asked all of a sudden, visibly appearing out of thin air at the end of Arthur's combat with Oswell. "You both look bored."

Ser Oswell kept wisely silent. Alric's smile grew. "Do you care for a round with me?" he asked and Arthur thought he had heard wrong. He couldn't be this lucky, could he? And Alric was _not_ this charitable. Despite his understanding of Arthur's torment, he would never forgive him, never accept him as one of their own again.

Smiling, Alric drew his sword out to show that he meant it. For a moment, Arthur toyed with the idea of leaving Dawn aside and try a normal blade, for that would make the fight more fair – and challenging. But he discarded it pretty swiftly. Alric Gargalen would take an offense, for certain, so Arthur only followed his example, unsheathing the starry blade.

Alric didn't wait for Arthur to make the first move; with something like admiration, the young man remembered the late Princess' consort's famous ability to alter tacks to match each opponent. In this instance, it would be truly unwise of Alric to let himself be placed in the defense from the start: Arthur had the advantages of wielding a better sword, as well as being some decades younger. Should Alric let himself lose the initiative even once, he would be probably unable to take it back.

Soon, Arthur was dripping sweat, his eyes were darting to catch the unexpected, his body followed as a well-oiled instrument without him giving much thought to his movements, Dawn was getting heavier in his hands, and he was feeling happier than he had in months.

Until Rhaegar appeared, that was it.

The two combatants looked at each other and lowered their swords. The King who had been reaching to unsheathe his own blade, reconsidered and instead, looked at them. "I had no idea you were this good, my lord," he said and it was no empty praise. The fact that someone Alric's age was able to hold their own against Arthur was damned impressive.

Alric shrugged. "I am better with a spear," he said, indifferently. "So of course, I have to practice more with the weapons I love less. That was part of my duty as Arianne's swordhand."

He gave Rhaegar a level look. "I take it you'll make the arrangements with the High Septon?" he asked; with a jolt, Arthur realized that the decision had been made… and he hadn't been told. Once again, he felt rejected and dejected; with ever rising anger, he wished Rhaegar would stop talking and just start practicing already, so he could get the satisfaction of trouncing him thoroughly. So what? Arthur was good enough to chase off Rhaegar's vagabonds because Rhaegar couldn't be bothered to chase those who attacked his own wife in person; good enough to have him break his promise and turn his back to the very one he had come to King's Landing to defend; good enough to keep in the damned prison that the thrice forsaken tower had become and guard what was an insult against all Dorne, Arthur included; but not good enough to be told that the termination of the marriage would take place very soon.

Elia would truly leave and he'd stay.

_It was my doing_ , he thought. In the very beginning of Elia's marriage, when she and Rhaegar started getting fond of each other, he had been so consumed by jealousy and envy that he could not help but beseech the gods to spoil their happiness. He hadn't realized then that he was praying for Elia's unhappiness. And his prayers had been heard and surpassed – the unhappiness was so profound that Elia had not even bothered to find a way to stay. Instead, she had jumped on the first chance to escape she got.

"He wants a hefty renumeration," Rhaegar said grimly. "It isn't a time-honoured practice, for a king to have his marriage dissolved without the queen becoming a septa and the children born in the marriage staying legitimate."

Alric huffed. "Then, you'll have to pay him," he said in a voice showing that, in his opinion, there was nothing to discuss.

"It won't be so easy," the King warned. "He's quite determined to wrestle some concessions that I am not prepared to make."

By now, the yard was almost empty. It occurred to Arthur that he should leave, too, but well, he didn't want to. He wanted to know what was going on and since he clearly wouldn't be told by either party, he's rather stay and listen unless they explicitly dismissed him. _Eavesdropping on other people's conversations_ , he thought resentfully and wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. _That's what being a Kingsguard brought me._

"That is no concern of mine," Alric said. "And it won't be our lords and ladies' concern either, in case you get any ideas," he added. "Maybe I should inform you that I am well aware of your attempts to establish a relationship with the Red Mountains."

Rhaegar didn't even blink. With something close to grief, Arthur thought that the prince he had once known would have never engaged in double-dealing. How experiences changed people…

"Lady Blackmont, my gooddaughter, wrote to me," Alric explained helpfully. "It was a clever maneuver, I'll give you this. But you might be interested to know that two days ago, she wed my son Elvar Sand. I suppose you may try your luck with Starfall, next time, under the delusion that Ser Arthur here holds any sway over his brother's decisions. He doesn't. In fact, Arel Dayne was fostered with me and given the fact his father became incapacitated when he was still a child, let's say that most often than not, I am the one he turns to when he needs the advice of someone older. And if you can't remember the name of the new Lady Dayne, let me remind you: Alynna Gargalen, my niece!"

Why was Rhaegar not retaliating? Arthur just couldn't fathom it. Alric was crossing boundaries that stretched far beyond words that had made other men dash for cover. The King was a smart and quick-witted man; why was he allowing his goodfather to be so rude?

"Don't forget to clear the matter about Rhaenys' name," Alric went on, all business once again. "We won't have a Targaryen Lady of Dorne."

"No matter how you twist it, she is a Targaryen," the King replied sharply. "Unless you can find a way to drain all my blood from her veins. I suppose you're already looking for the cure that might achieve that."

"If I find it, I'll be sure to pass it to you to use on Aegon," Alric shot back and they glared at each other, equally displeased that they would always be related to each other no matter what.

Rhaegar started to say something and Arthur almost slapped his hand over the King's mouth, already knowing what Rhaegar would say: that if he couldn't draw the Dornish blood from Aegon's veins, he could easily draw _him_ out of succession. He also knew that it would be all talk in the heat of the moment… but one that could bring on some very dangerous consequences.

Rhaegar closed his mouth and his jaw worked. _He's learned something, after all_ , Arthur realized, relieved. _He's come to know that words are powerful_ – not only those of a prophecy but those of everyday life. And then he at once saw why Rhaegar was letting Alric have his say: he couldn't fight back because nothing in his life had prepared him for being addressed this way… and because he felt guilty. There was still hope for him. Once again, Arthur was filled with relief at the realization that his trust in Rhaegar hadn't been as misplaced as he had come to think. Rhaegar could recognize right from wrong. It was simply painful for him, so he was fighting it. But he was not Aerys who had lost his judgment entirely.

Clearly, Alric was in no mood for trading barbs either. He pushed his sword into the scabbard. "Maybe we'll get this fight done another time," he said, looking at Arthur. "And now, I have some other things to do and then I am going to see my granddaughter."

"Tell her that I'll come to her chambers in the afternoon," Rhaegar said.

_Of course_ , Arthur thought, angry with himself for not figuring it out. Rhaegar had started to spend more time with Rhaenys than usual. He was preparing himself for letting her go.

"Oh she isn't there," Alric said, nonchalantly. "One of our people have her."

The King's face went white; with something like surprise, Arthur realized that Rhaegar was scared. He might be reconciled with letting Rhaenys go but in his heart, he still distrusted Alric and this irrational fear was stronger than his judgment. It was pure instinct that made him freeze on the spot.

The Dornishman peered at Rhaegar's face and smiled contentedly. "Horrible, isn't it?"

"What is horrible?"

"Not knowing what someone you distrust is going to do to your daughter on a whim."

He turned around and disappeared into the building.

* * *

"I thought she'd like to come to us." There was a touch of melancholy in Rhaella's voice.

Aelinor laughed and looked down through the Dowager Queen's window. Rhaenys waved at her cheerfully and kept chatting to Naeryn animatedly as they walked through the courtyard. "I thought so, too, but then I realized that two old ladies cannot compare to a young and glamorous woman in a young girl's eyes."

Rhaella sighed and poured the tea. She knew that but she wanted to spend as much time with Rhaenys as possible before losing her. And… she was not pleased with the fact that her granddaughter seemed so enchanted with Naeryn Sand. The ways of a practiced seductress who had more than a few men courting her already was not what she wanted for Rhaenys and she was afraid that the girl would get exactly that in the Dornish court. Elia didn't seem to find anything troubling with her cousin's behavior and she wouldn't discourage Rhaenys from seeking her out.

"Rhaenys spends a lot of time in your daughter's company," she said, carefully – too carefully, maybe. Aelinor's eyes changed from friendly to wary.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Don't try to drop hints, you are terrible at it. Say what you have on your mind and be done with it."

Rhaella decided that she might well do it, get it off her chest, and then enjoy the rest of the afternoon with her old friend. Aelinor was a mother – and she had suffered from rumours about inappropriate behavior. She would understand.

"I cannot help but see that there is too much… freedom in Naeryn's behavior," she said. "I am not criticizing the upbringing you gave her," she added quickly. "But I am a bit concerned…"

Aelinor left her cup on the table. Her eyes were now ice and Rhaella realized that by trying so hard not to offend her she had ended up doing just that.

"Good," Aelinor said. "Because really, you have no leg to stand on when we're talking about upbringing."

"I didn't mean…"

The other woman went on, as if Rhaella hadn't spoken at all. "Let's get this clear: I have a daughter who visits as many beds as she wishes without anyone raising a fuss; you have a son who couldn't make one attempt at going to another bed without causing a war. What do you have to say about upbringing if we take the results you and I have achieved into account?"

Rhaella's own anger now rose to her throat. She had argued with Rhaegar, she had called him stupid and irresponsible, she was terribly disappointed in him but no one else had dared to blame him in front of her. Even Elia hadn't done so, although Rhaella suspected that her gooddaughter didn't want to place her in such an awkward position.

"This isn't about the war."

"Oh but it is," Aelinor objected. " _Everything_ is about the war. It was the war that convinced us that your son isn't the king we'd want but there was nothing we could do about that. We can make sure that he never holds any sway in Dorne, though, so you can tell him that he might as well stop with his pathetic attempts to influence us. We've patched out differences with House Yronwood and no one will stay against us. Elia will rule Dorne as she sees fit – and she'll give her daughter the upbringing she sees fit."

"Yes, by having her socialize with all the bastards in the…"

She didn't even know how it had happened. Such words could have been – _had_ been – spoken by the very worst among the court scandalmongers but how had it come to this, the saucy insult leaving Rhaella's own mouth? She held a hand to her face, terrified and filled with remorse.

Aelinor's head went back, as if she had been struck. But she recovered so fast that Rhaella didn't want to think just how often she had heard such insults. She had been shocked by the fact that Rhaella had sunken so low but the words themselves were clearly no surprise.

"Well, she's socializing with a bastard here, isn't she? Only, here it's the one that's being presented as a prince. Tell me, Rhaella, what makes your grandson different from my daughter? The fact that your Rhaegar went through this mockery of marriage with the Northern bauble? What makes their marriage more valid than mine? The fact that the Northern chit was perfectly willing to participate in this sham, unlike me? The three witnesses when I had hundreds of those?"

Rhaella's face had gone gray. "I… I don't even know what to say," she breathed. "I didn't… You know I didn't mean it. I just…"

"Do I know?" Aelinor spat. "I seem to have misplaced all the invitations you and Aerys sent me to visit your court. Yes, the gaps in my memory must be the only reason I cannot remember a time – a single time –when you asked in your letters what it was like to raise a child like Naeryn."

Rhaella looked down. "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable," she admitted. "I never knew what to write to you. Rhaegar and Naeryn, they were born so close in time to each other that I was afraid I might cause you pain if I started asking questions… or boasting about my son's accomplishments."

"Very considerate of you." Aelinor's voice showed that she did not find it considerate at all. "Rest assured that your granddaughter won't become what my daughter is. It is a position that is reserved for unaccomplished bastards alone."

She rose. "I think we're done here," she said.

As Rhaella watched her leave, she felt a new wave of despair crushing over her. _Maybe I do have a part in Rhaegar doing what he did_ , she thought. _Maybe it was I who taught him by example that the way of dealing with uncomfortable situation is running away from them._

Maybe, just maybe, by being away from them, Rhaenys would get to know what true bravery meant.

 


	9. Secrets Visit by the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual, big thanks to everyone who reviewed.

In the fainted shimmer of the candles, Naeryn's eyes caressed the face of the man resting next to her, his arm thrown casually across her waist. She was as tired as him but she still had a chore to do – a very unpleasant one. Still, even that had not spoiled the joy she had found here, in this bed. This night and every night. In sleep, Anders Yronwood face was relaxed and peaceful, yet the lines of age were visible even now. _How much older than me is he_ , she wondered absent-mindedly. Not that it mattered. In her past, she had had lovers in their twenties who made love with their bodies as if they were fifteen and with their minds as if they were seventy-year-old men. He, on the other hand… Naeryn was quite certain that when he had been fifteen, he had made love with both body and mind as if he were thirty. And if he reached seventy, he'd make love in the exact same way. Pity that she wouldn't be with him then…

She sighed and snuggled closer. She'd better take whatever she could before she left. It was a good thing that they'd leave as soon as Elia's marriage was terminated because Naeryn was starting to get somewhat attached to him. He was the man of the dreams she had once had before she realized that they'd never come to pass: a good and valiant man. And as manful as they came… Getting too attached to her lovers was something she tried to avoid, for it would only bring her pain.

When the candlelight started taking its last, hissing breath, Naeryn disentangled herself carefully and wrapped her lover's arms around her pillow, hoping to make him think it was her in his sleep. She took her nightgown off and brushed her silver hair out. Nothing about her person or attire should be tangled.

She went to the candlestick and doused all candles. Lit by the fire only, she knelt in front of the fireplace and for a while, stared at them before reaching for the small dagger she held on a nearby coffer. Scarlet drops hissed in the flames and made them dance higher as Naeryn started to weave the resulting shadows in her hair, smear them in her skin, apply them over her eyes and the red robe and dark cloak she now put on. Years of hard training had made her stronger and more skilled with her dagger than most women but she did not want to defend herself with a blade should something happen. Shadows would have to do.

She reached for the obsidian pendant on a silver chain and placed it on her forehead. The stone was bright, pulsing with life.

Now, everyone she came across would feel the inexplicable desire to look aside, not noticing the shadow that was Naeryn gliding past them. She gave a last look to the sleeping man and left the bedchamber soundlessly.

As soon as she found herself in the hallway beyond the antechamber, a dark silhouette stirred. "My lady?" he asked sleepily and then immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. Ever since they had come across each other in the Riverlands some five years ago, he left to die from his wounds on the road and she roaming the realm with her then paramour, he had become her watchdog, her self-appointed guard. There was no concealing herself from him, for it was her blood worked in her magic that had strengthened the thinned thread of his life. But there was clearly some difference in the way he perceived her when she was under disguise compared to when she wasn't. He had never been able to explain it.

She went past him. Roderic of the North followed. Neither of them spoke.

It was quite cold but that was a good thing since it helped Naeryn clear her thoughts. She climbed down a staircase and took a deep breath before stepping aside to let Roderic open the door. She had always disliked that moment after she had left the torchlight and before her eyes got used with the darkness outside.

He moved to make room for her and she went out in the courtyard, past a small garden. Tonight, there was no moon and the stars were wrapped in clouds, giving only the faintest shades of flickering. The very few people they encountered looked aside, or turned back, not noticing her once.

Naeryn knew where the tower was. She had seen it. She knew the way to it. But Red Keep at night was an entirely different place, full of shadows deeper than the ones she had disguised herself with. Especially now, so soon after practicing blood magic, she could hear the blood of all who had died screaming here. Should she enter the lower floors, she was quite sure she'd hear the groans of Maegor the Cruel's poor builders.

Two steps behind her, Roderic shivered, as if he, too, could hear the blood calling.

When the silhouette appeared before them, at first she didn't spare it much thought. But when the woman didn't look aside, Naeryn was quite taken aback. She wasn't looking at Roderic. Instead, her eyes were staring straight at Naeryn, as if she could see her – well, not actually see her because she looked quite bewildered herself. But she seemed to feel the presence – something very few people, and not one in Westeros, had done.

The Stark girl.

Naeryn had heard much about her wolfish fierceness and so on. Supposedly, that was what had attracted the madman Elia had wed. But Naeryn saw nothing of it tonight. What she saw was both a child and old crone. So youthful, yet aged beyond her years, not unlike Elia. She must have slipped out of her rooms because she hand't been able to go to sleep. And by the haunted look on her face, Naeryn would bet that it wasn't her first time doing it. _She looks like a ghost_ , she thought without much sympathy but without much real malice either, with the detached unease she felt each time she saw a wild animal in a cage.

Lyanna Stark shivered and looked aside. The bewilderment in her eyes turned to joy. She stepped forward so fast that she almost bumped in the shadows around Naeryn. "Roderic," she said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at Winterfell."

He made a step backward, as if being near her would make him foul. Naeryn saw the moment Lyanna looked beyond the first joy of seeing one of her own to the reality of how Roderic was now: the missing eye, the maimed ear, the scar gleaming white in the darkness. She looked stunned. How could she look so stunned? Naeryn still remembered the feverish disbelief of Roderic, the only surviving man-at-arms of those tasked to escort the Lord of Winterfell's daughter to Riverrun. _She left us there_ , he had muttered again and again, tossing in the vortex of his dreams. _Lady Lyanna just went off with him and left us there to die._

"What happened to you?"

For all her years, the girl's voice now sounded like one of a small child.

He didn't look away from her, his face a picture of scorn and grief. "How could you, my lady?" he asked. "How? Was that what Lord Rickard deserved?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Her face went white. Naeryn, though, had neither the time nor desire to dig into the girl's soul, so she went on her way. After a moment, she heard Roderic following.

The heavy door creaked when she opened it and Naeryn swiftly turn around to motion that Roderic should stay outside. Unlike her, he was very noticeable and if they encountered someone, Roderic would have to explain what he was doing in the White Sword Tower.

Slowly, cautiously, Naeryn felt her way through the darkness until her hand came upon the banisters of a staircase. She ascended the first few steps very carefully and then, having gained an instinct for the height and width of them, went on with more confidence.

The first door she opened slightly was the wrong one. The golden head on the pillow could only belong to Jaime Lannister and while her younger self might have found it amusing to try and seduce a Kingsguard, at the age she was she simply closed the door back and moved to the next one.

On her fourth try, she finally found the right cell. Just like with the others, the fire in the fireplace still gave some faint light, so she made her way to the fireplace without delay and unwove the shadows, feeling the sharp twinge when the obsidian became just a gem once again. Now, she crossed to the bed and shook the occupant awake.

The purple eyes opened and stared at her drowsily. And then, he gave her the welcome she least expected: his arm shot out from beneath the cover and grasped her, bringing her close to him. "You have come to keep me company, haven't you?" he asked happily.

After a moment of stunned shock, Naeryn tried to push him away but even half-asleep, he was far stronger and too quick in his reactions. The only reason she didn't end up in this bed was that Arthur woke up enough to realize that he was no longer seventeen, that they were not in Salt Shore, and their shared past was just that – a past.

Once he came to this realization, he snapped wide awake and let go off her as if she burned him.

"Good," Naeryn said, straightening to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I am sorry," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes. "Anyway, why are you here if not for this?"

"Because I need to talk to you and I can't quite manage it when you're always pasted to one of their sides. But since we're talking about it… You've lost the right to touch any part of me long ago. You're a part of all of this because for some reason, my uncle thinks you can still be saved. And I'll tolerate you because of this and because, for a reason I can fathom even less than my uncle's one, there are those of us who still care what will happen to you."

He sighed. Her answer was less than flattering but it was honest, albeit brutally so. Anyway, why had he asked if he didn't want to be told? He drew back uncomfortably, for it was the first time in almost ten years that he was so close to a young and appealing woman… But the aroma of her still clung to him, that mixture of jasmine and unique hint of her own. His mind was already working in full force but that thrice damned body of his didn't care. It had almost forgotten what it was like to press another body down, to hear whispers in the darkness, to feel soft hair between its fingers, to make love to a woman with vigour and passion… He didn't harbor any romantic feelings for Naeryn and he hadn't even during their affair but his body remembered all too well all of her.

The mocking glint of her eyes was visible in the faint light. Arthur decided to ignore it. "Those who still care?" he asked, his mood considerably brighter all of a sudden. "Ashara and Arel? Do they care?"

"Oh they do," she said. "Which doesn't mean they aren't furious with you. If you ever set a foot in Dorne again, pray that Oberyn finds you before your siblings get there first!"

He would pray for no such thing. While he wasn't eager to meet their anger, he was desperate to see _them_. Sure, he hadn't seen Arel all that often before and after Ashara's retiring from court, he had seen her just once. But then, he had known that he could visit. Now, there wasn't a place in Dorne that he'd be welcome to.

"Not likely to happen," he said. "I doubt I'll be visiting Dorne any time soon."

"Are you sure?"

He squinted at her. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Naeryn admitted. "As I said, my uncle sees something about you that makes him think you can still have a chance. For a new beginning, I guess. And as reluctant as I am to see it, I don't like to have you suffer… if you do, indeed, suffer. The King could possibly be persuaded to let you go. In fact, I think he can be prompted into suggesting it himself. The High Septon can release you from your oaths. You could come back with us. Live the life that every other man does."

Live like the rest of them. The very thing he had abhorred. The second son of a minor House from the edge of the smallest of the Seven Kingdoms. What else could he do but live like the rest of them?

His eyes went to Dawn, hilt gleaming like a lightning. He had fought so hard to make something of himself. The Sword of the Morning. The Kingsguard. Someone whose name was renown all over the realm.

But the scent of jasmine was as strong as it had been when he had not quite woken up and thought that he was still in Dorne and Naeryn had come to share his bed once again.

"I… swore an oath," he finally said. His voice was so rough that he wouldn't recognize it himself. "All knights must bleed and suffer…"

"Oh please!" she interrupted and rose angrily. "Were you feeling very knightly while others bled and suffered for the ones you swore that oath to?"

"One has nothing to do with the other!" he snapped back and rose on his elbow. "My honour demanded that I serve loyally. The gods only know what it cost me! But maybe it should keep taxing me because honour is not something that can be bought off even with the most alluring of lives!"

"Be quiet!" she hissed and looked at the door. He startled and shut up. She looked back at him with a bitter, mocking smile.

"Fine, then," she said. "I have no idea why I bothered to come and give you time to think before you're taken aback by the proposal, no idea at all. But fine. Keep clinging to your honour and believing that suffering for your honour is a noble thing to do, and blaming the gods for being so cruel to you. Just like your honourable Lord Commander did thirty years ago."

He was so stunned that he could only stare. "What?"

She huffed disdainfully. "That's right, you don't know. Many years ago, Ser Gerold Hightower made a proposal to my mother. Not to wed her, of course. To bed her. Oh he didn't dress it up like this, naturally. He used much sweeter words, I am told. But generally, that was the gist of it. Because she was too soiled for him to take to wife, he decided she'd be grateful that a renowned knight like him showed her attention. That was shortly before he took the white, almost immediately after my birth. He proclaimed that the gods had decided to deny him the only woman he could possibly consider as a bride. He was made Lord Commander not even a year after entering the Kingsguard."

Arthur stared at her. His first impulse was to accuse her of making things up but he knew she wasn't. It was in Ser Gerold's character to cling to honour despite everything. And Aelinor Gargalen had been soiled. Gerold Hightower wouldn't even wed a Valyrian empress if she had been as dishonoured as King Aegon's niece was.

"Maybe he'll keep teaching you the revelations about honour he came to with time," Naeryn went on, her voice still very cold. "Just like he did the lion boy, as I've heard. Tell me, what would you say to all those the King you gave your precious oath to tortured and killed in your presence? _I am sorry but I swore an oath. You must understand. I could try to intervene but I won't because my honour is more important than your life. Far more precious. Hey, is that the Starks over there? Why, come in!_ "

Arthur's hands clutched the coverings because otherwise, he might have grasped her by the throat.

"I can see why you're so much against honour," he spat. "You _are_ dishonour, since the very moment you came to be and even before."

She tried to hide it but he saw that his words had wounded her. They were the most dangerous of enemies, hurling at each other vulnerabilities they had glimpsed all those years ago in the Water Gardens and later, on the pillows of the bed they had shared. They knew where to hit to hurt most, to draw blood. Naeryn, though, was not going to let this go on. He was beyond help and she couldn't even remember why she had wanted to help him.

Despite knowing that she had just given him the victory, she turned around and left the cell. She could not summon the shadows back without a fireplace, so she simply hurried through the yard as fast as she could. Roderic followed.

In the cell, Arthur was trying to make sense of everything that had happened, everything he had learned. But as much as he struggled to think of honour and being released from his oaths, his mind always came back to one thing: the scent of jasmine that lingered around his bed.

* * *

"Where are my guards?"

Rhaegar sighed and looked up from the heavy tome on the tabletop. Lyanna's bad moods were hard to put up with and the flaring of her temper was quite tiring but the worst parts were always when she woke up with what she deemed just grievance. That was a sure receipt for a day or two of cold looks and locked bedchamber.

"If you mean Ser Oswell and the rest of them, I am sorry but today it's…"

"They aren't the ones that I mean," she snapped. "If you ask me, they can stay wherever they are, indefinitely! I am sick of watchdogs and I don't need those. But anyway, that was not what I was asking about. I want to know what happened to _my_ guards. My father's _Northern_ guards."

The King had the terrible feeling that he knew where the conversation was headed for. In the beginning, she had simply taken his reassurances at face value and later, when she no longer had, she had been too distraught over her father and brother's fate to think of what had transpired before.

"I am not sure I understand what you're talking about," he said and gave his harp a secret look, longing for the days they had built a world of their own under the soft sounds.

His second wife glared at him, lack of sleep evident on her face.

"I am talking about the beginning of our time together," she said. "Or maybe you have already forgotten about the Riverlands? The letter you sent me? The fact that I told you the route I'd be using? The flight we took together? The undoubted unlawfulness of what we did? The men of my escort _that you assured me were not that seriously wounded and could wait until we reach the nearest town and send help because their condition looked scarier than it was_? The Mother help me, I actually believed you. And now I demand an answer. What happened to them?"

Rhaegar looked aside. After alerting the citizens and paying them handsomely to go to the wounded and attend them, he had moved on to the next step in his plan. "I don't know," he said.

To his enormous surprise, the fight went off her eyes. Her shoulders sagged. "So I am right," she whispered. "They might be all dead and most likely are. And you don't even care whether I am right."

He sighed. "Lyanna, they drew their swords upon us."

"Yes, because my father trusted them with my protection! They were only doing their duty. And you lied to me."

Angrily, he slammed the book closed. "Would you have still come with me if you knew they had sustained some serious wounds?"

"No, I wouldn't!"

"You see? Someone had to make the decision if we were ever going to be together."

She stared at him as if she was looking at a stranger, her wonder so encompassing that even anger couldn't come back. "My desire to be with you didn't quite reach this far. There were lines I never would have crossed!"

"You had to. And those men were in the way. I am sorry about them, truly. But…"

"Yes," she said and slowly sunk into a chair. "They were in your way to the seduction of the foolish girl who believed every word you said. And you don't even care whether they lived or died."

Now, he looked clearly uncomfortable. Out of all problems she might have come to lay at his door, the unfortunate guards had taken no place in his considerations. "You don't understand. While I am sorry for what happened to them, it could not really be avoided. You cannot possibly know how great a danger the world is in."

Lyanna had heard all this before and had vanishingly patience for it. "But _people_ are those who live in this world, Rhaegar," she said. 'Those were _Stark_ people. I'd known them my entire life… and you tricked me into leaving them to their fate to go into that tower at the end of Westeros!"

For a moment, he saw in her eyes the sparkle of justified anger that had once attracted him to her; but a moment later, it was replaced by the blank expression of someone who had lost their last succor.

He rose and came near; she held out a hand to stop him. "Don't you dare touch me," she warned. "Especially now. Or in the next five years! Or else you'll need that Kingsguard of yours immediately!"

"By the gods, Lyanna! Calm down!"

The anger came back, fiercer than ever. "I don't want to calm down and you can stop treating me like a child. I won't let you. Never, from this moment on."

He tried to reach for her; snarling, she bowed her head and aimed for his hand; cursing, he snatched it back before she could chow his fingers off. "Stop behaving like a madwoman and let me explain."

She gave him a look of astonishment and made a step back, folding her arms on her chest. "I must be a madwoman indeed to believe your explanations ever again, since you never give them in a timely the gods, Rhaegar! People whose only fault was being in my father's service died so you could carry me away – and you didn't think to tell me or to consider that leaving with me might not be such a good idea after all?"

"If they had thrown their weapons as both you and I commanded them, it could be avoided."

"Could it?" Lyanna asked in a harsh whisper, grabbing the arms of her chair. "You would have never let them go, lest they told someone the direction we disappeared in."

Her accusation shook him to the core. Did she really believe that he'd go this far? He didn't like placing people at risk, he just had to think on a greater scale. He was deeply sorry for every single life lost, even Robert Baratheon's. "You don't believe it."

"I do."

"Sure," he said, now angered as well. "I don't know what went into me, to think I can turn you into a queen. You're unable to see things on a broader scale beyond your Winterfell."

 _Not my Winterfell any more_. Ned would never turn her away but Lyanna did not delude herself into thinking that he'd be happy to see her there. Not after all the deaths. Not after Father and Brandon… As to the North as a whole, she supposed that by now, her reputation was only slightly better than the one of the Night King. Roderic blamed her for his condition and the death of his fellow guards and he was right. Mothers probably used her to scare their children into obedience. _Be quiet, or I'll give you to Lady Lyanna…_

There was sour taste in her mouth at thinking how much she had envied Elia Martell once. What had the frail Dornishwoman done to deserve having such a handsome, romantic, chivalrous husband, she had asked herself bitterly. Gods! Now, she envied her even more, for Elia would soon break free of this quagmire of lies, madness, and lofty aims that leaned suspiciously to indifference to those who would foot the bill. Lyanna would stay in the cage she had made for herself. And with the birth of her child, she had fortified the door so that she could not run away even if she chewed her own leg off.

"I am pleased," she finally said, "that I am human."

Their eyes met, no one willing to yield or understand the other. Two worlds, the First Men and Valyria, so far away from each other that even their grievances were unable to meet in the middle of the road.


	10. At the Crossroad of No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to everyone who left a review, you keep the story going.

The throne room was slowly filling with people. The High Septon, the King's Hand. The Master of Laws and the Master of Coin. Lord Jordayne who had advised Arianne and Doran Martell on legal matters for many years. A few holders of lesser offices.

Arthur Dayne stood at the door while the Lord Commander had taken his place near the dais. The younger man's impassive face did manage to hide his tension but it was tearing him apart as he waited for the gathering to be complete and then proceed to announce Elia and Rhaegar's marriage null and void. The documents were ready. They only needed to be signed.

Yet there was something else that was bothering him, too. A small thing, for sure, but it gnawed at him nonetheless. It would not be considered breaking the word of his oath. The spirit, though… He was well aware that one of the officials present would serve a very specific purpose. Make Elia feel uncomfortable. Enrage her father. That, especially, since Arthur was only too aware of how many people considered Elia a mere instrument in Lord Alric's hands, so disrupting his peace of mind would be useful. Arthur, though, knew better. The Princess was her own woman. The last few years had only cemented her resolve. Merely placing her in an awkward situation would achieve nothing.

Alric, though… _He dislikes me now_ , Arthur reminded himself. _I should not care that he's be taken aback. A little humiliation might do him some good._ Yet he remembered how Alric had come to practice with him in the courtyard, breaking the ice between Arthur and his own retinue because he had recognized that Arthur was at his lowest. He had let him know about Arel's twins, he had told him that he understood the most selfish and mistaken decision Arthur had ever made in his life. He wanted to give him the chance to return if Arthur would take it. Many people had done much more for him, yet Arthur did not feel like he owed them. Each one of them, Rhaegar included, had wanted something in return. No one had given him anything just because. Alric Gargalen hadn't and wouldn't demand anything of him – loyalty, a word in the convenient ear, _something_. He couldn't let him walk in and meet them unprepared.

Elia and Alric were the last ones to appear, a little while after the last officials took their seats. Someone must have kept them informed about the comings and goings, Arthur thought as Elia approached in her navy blue gown, leaning on her father's hand ever so slightly. Arthur could say that last night, she hadn't slept at all. Well, neither had Rhaegar.

As he moved aside to let them through, he looked at Alric and spoke, lowly and urgently. "Be prepared. The Steward of Customs is here…"

By the sudden whitening of Alric's face he immediately knew that the older man knew who he was talking about. Elia's breath hissed between her teeth and she gave her father a troubled look.

He shook his head to alleviate their concern. "I am fine," he said. "Thank you, Arthur."

He looked at Elia. "Are you ready?" he asked and she smiled tartly.

"I've never been more ready for something in the last five years," she assured him.

In the great hall, the assembled lords, septons, and officials rose as one and bowed deeply to their Queen, for that was what Elia still was, although she had chosen not to wear a crown. Alric led her to the dais and descended the steps to take the chair meant for him. His eyes slowly went from face to face, not settling at a single person for more than a fleeting moment. Had he not been warned in advance whom he would encounter, he might have not recognized him at all. He had seen him only once when he had been at his lowest, weary to the bones, older than his years, sick and almost feverish with a wound that would not heal… All that he had seen was a man much younger than him, one who had not just suffered the hardships of a prolonged battle campaign, a man in his prime. He hadn't needed to memorize the face, it simply hadn't mattered.

No. He would not think about it right now. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction to see him disconcerted. And damn it, he wouldn't let bloody Rhaegar Targaryen gloss over his own part in destroying his marriage to Elia by reminding everyone of how Alric and Arianne had been. Arianne might have taken this insipid, one-time pretty knight as her plaything but she had managed to do it without provoking war with the Reach where the fool was from.

On the dais, Elia folded her hands in her lap and raised her chin. The High Septon's droning filled the hall and Alric saw that many than one person fought to stay awake. He found the task increasingly harder, himself, as the man kept talking about the new concept that had just been introduced to him, that after the dragons died, the dragon kings could not possibly keep two wives, so the first queen had graciously agreed to step aside…

The arguments of law managed to wake him up. He would not entrust the Master of Law with his least favourite sand steed, let alone Elia's fate. Roose Bolton's fame had spread even to Dorne… and the Northerner who had proclaimed himself Naeryn's guard insisted that the rumours could not hold a candle to the truth. Fortunately, Lord Jordayne had long experience in dealing with practicalities, although it had never before involved the dissolving of a royal marriage. Elia and Alric listened intently as it was confirmed that the rights of Aegon as Prince of Dragonstone would be untouched and Rhaenys would become the heir of Dorne, taking her mother's name. To Rhaegar's credit, he insisted that he'd take part in supporting his daughter. The Master of Coin had his men present the official documents. His expression showed that he thought the King was being too generous. "I'd like to know what Lord Ambrose thinks on this," he ended, looking not at Elia but Alric instead.

The tension in the hall intensified and curdled.

"Lord Ambrose?" Alric repeated. "Why, I don't remember ever having heard this name."

His icy smile was so like Rhaegar's own that everyone was suddenly reminded that he, too, was of the blood of the dragon, a descendant of a long line of kings.

"But of course," he went on, with magnanimous air, "let's hear what Lord Ambrose has to say."

It turned out that the lord didn't have anything this important to say but then, it had not been the purpose he had been taken here. Elia and Alric exchanged a look, waiting for the next strike to fall and indeed, it did. In fact, it was more direct than either of them expected.

"I wonder," the High Septon said silkily, looking around at the gathering, "if I might raise the matter of Lady Rhaenys' upbringing."

"You mean Princess Rhaenys," Alric corrected sharply.

The man sighed patiently. "Of course I mean the Princess. And now, my lord…"

Had it been anyone else, Elia would have interrupted, saying that her daughter's upbringing was a matter that concerned her alone. But the words had emerged from the High Septon's mouth. She had to sit and hear him out, at least. She already knew what he would say and expected it with her stomach sinking.

"There has been considerable doubt expressed that House Martell is capable of providing the best upbringing for a royal princess," the High Septon proclaimed. "There has been a confession…"

What had Ambrose confessed? That he had been her mother's lover? A great confession, no doubt! It was only known all around Dorne and the Reach! She tried to control her expression and didn't quite manage it. If the High Septon managed to pin amorality on her and her House, she might find herself forced to accept other people – spies – into Rhaenys' household.

Alric rose to his feet, not quite bothering to hide his anger. "The case that has brought us here is dissolving the marriage between the King and Queen. You have been summoned to give your opinion on that issue alone, High Septon, not anyone's upbringing."

The High Septon looked at him steadily. "I am always summoned to voice the truth as the Seven see it."

"Truths?" Alric asked coldly. Elia immediately adopted her part, looking down at her lap, hoping that she looked suitably heartbroken by being so maligned. Her hair fell on her face, hiding the mouth that she could not quite stop from twisting in disgust. "My daughter is nothing if not truthful. She has no reason to fear the truth, like, say, some others who knew that the King could not have two queens at the same time and kept silent. So let's keep to the truths that have been proven, shall we?" His voice rose like thunder. "My daughter is not on trial!"

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of throwing his purse at Ambrose, claiming that he had just remembered who he was and that he had once been clearly so destitute that he couldn't afford a bed of his own, so he had been forced to beg to use Alric's. But practicality won out. There was too much on the stake for him to pursue petty revenges. His second chance to deal with Arianne's little trifle, and he'd have to let it go. Again. That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth and it did not go away even when Rhaegar raised his hand.

"You are right, my lord," he said. "Let's deal with the matter at hand."

He looked at Elia who nodded gratefully, although inside her head, she was screaming. He had managed to have the last word once again, making it look like he was being generous while the truth was, he had many more reasons than her to fear the truths. Elia might be inconvenienced to be held accountable for her parents' sins but Rhaegar should have been more than inconvenienced to answer for the ones he had committed in person!

* * *

Standing by the window in his bedchamber, the King stared at the magnificent sunset, thinking that this was the end of almost ten years of his life. He had wed Elia with so many hopes and for a while, it had looked like those hopes might come true. Before he encountered love. Before his drive to achieve the prophecy led him to see what he wanted to see, believe what he wanted to believe. That was why he'd lose them – his companion in those first years, the one he had felt good around. His precious Rhaenys. He had expected that he'd love Lyanna's child much more than he did Elia's, yet it had not happened. To him, Jon was no more special than Aegon – and his feelings for both of them were not even love, not compared with what he felt for Rhaenys. All those hopes, all this amazement, all those small wonders of seeing confused eyes focus, aimlessly flailing hands forming a fist, a voice that had only wailed pronouncing a word – all that was felt much more intensely with one's first child, even if the partner was not beloved. He had found himself just as unable to share Lyanna's excitement over their first child as he had been to share Elia's with their second and maybe even more, because Jon was not the Visenya he had expected.

"You think I was unjust," he said, turning back to the room and pouring two goblets of Dornish red himself.

Arthur, now in simple red cloak, looked aside. "It isn't my job to think," he said, accepting the goblet.

"But you disapproved. You think I was causing Elia another hurt with no need at all."

"Since when are you so concerned with my disapproval?" Arthur snapped and immediately regretted it.

Rhaegar, though, seemingly didn't notice his outburst. "Oh, I've been concerned with it for a very long time," he said. "But after the war, you never showed any inclination to revive our friendship."

Arthur set his goblet on the table. "Our friendship," he said darkly, "has been sealed with my desertion of my initial duty, my princess' humiliation and the blood of my people – here, in the Red Keep, as well as the battlefields. You'll forgive me if I don't think it was worth the price."

Rhaegar only sighed. The last day had aged and wearied him as much as it had Elia, leaving him to energy for confrontations. He looked at his goblet that he had yet to drink from but abstained because if he drank, he'd fall asleep right away and he still had something to do.

"I know," he said. "There's no need to tell you that I didn't plan for any of it to happen. It happened and I can't take it back. We won. I am the King now. Everyone thinks you'll succeed Ser Gerold as Lord Commander – as you probably will. And no one knows that here, you feel bad."

He paused. "In fact, I would like for you to feel good," he went on in the same even voice. "But it won't happen here, will it? Not anymore."

In the falling dusk, Arthur's eyes glinted, just a shade darker than Rhaegar's own. "Why is this concern all of a sudden, Your Grace?"

Rhaegar drew a breath. "You can go back to Dorne if that's your wish. Elia agreed to take you on… and let you guard Rhaenys. I don't trust the Dornish court. I didn't think I would find a man I trust less than Oberyn but his father proved me wrong. He isn't interested in my daughter nearly as much as he is in his own. If he decides, for whatever reason, that Rhaenys should be removed from their succession…"

He felt silent. Arthur wanted to protest but really, it would fall on deaf ears. Alric had done more than enough to merit Rhaegar's dislike… but such level of distrust? Was it shades of Aerys, or just the sharpened feeling that he _had_ done something to make Alric hate him so?

"A Kingsguard in Sunspear," he said instead and laughed because, well, the image was amusing. "Guarding the heir of House Martell. Under Oberyn Martell and Alric Gargalen's benevolent eye, let alone Elia's." The more details he added, the more ridiculous the idea became. "Might just happen. When unicorns start flying over the streets of Sunspear."

"You won't go as a Kingsguard," Rhaegar said, with a sour smile. "The High Septon is getting used to doing things that have not been done before. If you agree to go there, you'll do it as someone freed from your vows. I trust your word… as well as Elia's. After all, she only wants the best for Rhaenys."

Dorne. Staying at Elia's side. Free to live. To start again. The heat of the desert, the salty scent of the sea, the sweet aroma of blood oranges, the scent of jasmine overcame him all of a sudden. Even before the King had finished, Arthur already knew what his answer would be.

* * *

Late after midnight, the hallways were almost unlit but Elia could walk them blindfolded. Here and there, she encountered servants who bowed hastily, avoiding her eye. _They don't know how to treat me anymore_ , she thought absent-mindedly as she stole in her son's rooms. She had explained to him that she's leave in a few days but she could say that in his mind, the thought of being separated for years, forever maybe, was just unfathomable. He was too young. But she felt as old as the earth itself, yet the idea was unfathomable to her, as well. She stood in front of Aegon's bed and stared at him in the light of the candle she lit with precise, sure motions. She would never get tired of watching him. Adjusting the cover around him, she drew a chair near and sat down, looking at her son. Just watching. Until the candle burned out, and then the second one, and the third one, and then the dawn came, and Aegon's attendants with it.

* * *

The candles in Alric's bedchamber had long burned out but neither he nor Aelinor had bothered to light them again. They didn't need to see each other. They had been sitting in front of the fireplace for hours, until the fire died out, she with her back against the settee and he leaning against her. She had folded her hands across his chest from behind, resting her head over his shoulder. It was over. So many hopes. Such ambitions. All the things they had been envisioning for Elia. All gone. And in such ugly manner, with veiled insults and threats on both sides.

"And here I was, thinking that a fond marriage would be far preferable to a passionate one," Alric said bitterly. "Comes to show that one is never too old to be proven a fool."

Without lifting her arms, Aelinor touched his shoulder. "You aren't being serious."

"Oh yes, I am," he snapped. "What? Even I can be serious, you know."

"I didn't say you couldn't," she murmured. "You're too touchy today."

"I am." He paused. "Elia's situation was hard enough as it was. But the fact that they had brought him there…"

She sighed. "So I thought. I spotted him today. Even when I knew him at the Water Gardens, he was nothing this special – and time had done him no favours either."

Alric couldn't decide whether he was touched or annoyed. He chuckled. "Don't mind me. If it hadn't happened in a day like today, I doubt I would have noticed him at all. It was only my pride that was wounded, not my heart."

"What is the difference?" his sister asked.

He started to answer and then stopped. There was no use lying to her. "There is no difference," he said. "None."

He felt Aelinor nod behind him. "So I thought," she murmured.

Once again, Alric remembered the day he returned after almost a year of fighting off attackers from the Dornish coastine, emaciated, a stranger in a body that refused to heal, so tired that he could fall into the first bed he saw and sleep a good decade away, only to come face to face with Arianne's latest bauble, the one she had had the audacity to install openly in the Water Gardens, in Alric's bed, for all he knew. To this day, he was grateful that she had not been around, for he would have strangled her with his bare hands, arrangements, politics and every other considerations be damned. The shadows from this cursed day stirred to life: the terrified castellan of the Water Gardens. Little Oberyn who stared open-mouthed, not understanding why his father wouldn't grab him and throw him up in the air. Carral, two steps behind Alric and just as stunned as him. With them, others, too woke up, beloved ghosts, now gone from his life, torn from his heart. Some had been dead for years, others for mere months. This time, the flood of memories that he had suppressed for so long with the sheer strength of his will overcame that wall. Doran was truly dead. Arianne and Quentyn would never grow up.

"Here, here," Aelinor murmured in his hair. "It's all right, dear heart. It was about time. I was so worried about you…"

He turned his head against her neck and wept until he didn't have more tears left, until he fell asleep with exhaustion and she drew the cover from the settee to shield them both from the cold.

 


	11. The Last Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who spared the time to leave a review, they are all precious.

Black hair falling all over the pillow.

Rhaegar's hand reached out, touched the lustrous waterfall of dark curls. The promise of them had already been evident when she was born, small and stunned, almost too stunned to cry in her first few days of life. A Martell babe through and through, Rhaenys had been. He remembered the faint echo of disappointment that the newborn did not resemble his own elevated lineage in the least… and how fast it had stopped mattering, from the first time he had held her when Elia was too exhausted to wake up even when the one month old was screaming her head off in the cradle and their attendants were in the other room _. I had no choice but take her, I was so scared that she'd choke and die from all that screaming before I could summon someone_ , he remembered, smiling. _How little did I know._ He had considered the fact that Rhaenys stopped crying in a minute or two in his awkward arms a huge personal success, the first experience that bonded him to her. When the pale blue in her eyes deepened into rich indigo, there was already nothing that could make him adore her more.

"Are you sleeping?" he asked softly.

She turned to him immediately. "I thought you weren't coming," she said, not looking at him.

"I would never let you leave without seeing you first."

In the light of the notched candle on the coffer at her bedside, he could see only half of her face, the other half buried against the pillow. He thought he detected a flicker of fear in her eye. It was so cruel that a child should be pulled out of their ordinary life and sent into the unknown. "Why did everything change, Father?"

How could he even begin to answer this question? He chose the simplest answer of all. "Your uncle died and your mother had to shoulder his responsibilities."

She thought about it. When she spoke again, her voice was low and uncertain. "If Mother was happier here, would she have agreed to return to Dorne?"

_This damned woman_ , Rhaegar railed inwardly. It isn't enough that she's taking Rhaenys away from me. _No, she has to fill her head with her own grudges._ But his anger passed as fast as it had come. It hadn't been Elia's fault, not truly. Rhaenys was old and smart enough to feel her mother's unhappiness and know what Lyanna's presence and the rumours that were still abounding meant.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I hope your mother is happier in Dorne that she was here," he added, surprised by just how much he meant it. Elia was a woman who was not made for marital life. Even when their relationship was at its best, she had never been truly happy, not the way Lyanna had been in that faraway tower. Maybe now she'd feel calmer. And with a consort who would be lesser in rank than she was, she'd be the one to define the rules.

"And you'll be happier now as well, without us here to throw a shadow," Rhaenys finished for him. "While waiting Lady Lyanna to give you more children."

He was stricken numb. How could she say such a thing? She was the purest, most precious thing in his life. She couldn't believe that…? Once again, the ugly doubt crawled uninvited in his mind and once again, he chased it away. Elia would never do anything to hurt their daughter.

"Why are you saying this?" he asked and immediately knew what the answer was. He also knew that she would never tell him.

She shrugged a small shoulder. As smart and amazing as she was, she was quite tiny for her age. Elia was quite average in height but he had heard his mother say that Arianne Martell had been a small woman indeed and Rhaenys had clearly taken after her. "People talk… You chose Lady Lyanna, didn't you? It makes sense that we're intruding. You never chose us, right? You wed Mother and had us but you never chose either her or us."

If he knew who it was who had been filling Rhaenys' head with such malice, he would have them short of a head. His mind immediately went to Alric Gargalen but rationality won out. While he didn't trust his former goodfather one bit, it made much more sense for Rhaenys to have simply heard the rumours, long before the Dornish party's arrival. Tongues had been wagging since Harrenhall. And Rhaenys had never called Lyanna queen, indicating that she had had some idea of what was going on.

"Well," Rhaegar finally said. "I can promise you something now. No matter how many children Lyanna might give me, I'll love each of them just a tiny bit less than I love you."

She didn't say a word but the brief relief in her eyes made the unfairness of his promise absolutely worth it.

* * *

Once again, Aegon's attendants offered their curtseys without looking at her. The white knight at the door gave her a dark look that he tried to conceal but she noticed even in the interplay of torchlight and shadows. _He's heard all the rumours about Dornish women,_ Elia thought absent-mindedly. _And a repudiated queen is hardly someone inspiring much respect._ Yes, morbid curiosity was only to be expected.

"This young swaggerer," Arthur murmured, falling in step beside her as soon as she turned the corner. She pressed her hand against her heart, so stunned she had been by his sudden appearance, for he had emerged from the shadows like a black ghost, a shadow in the shadows, no longer in his Kingsguard white but not in the purple with the sword and falling star either. She had seen the way people at court withdrew from him, just like they did from her. A former Kingsguard was just as awkward to be around as a former queen. "I'd love to challenge him to a single combat. Maybe I will, tomorrow morning."

Elia smiled a little, wondering whether the offense against her, or the dislike of the one who had replaced him was the prime incentive for his anger. "I'd rather have you not do it, Ser Arthur! I'd hate for the beginning of my time as Lady of Dorne to be rescuing a fellow Dornishman from a scandal."

_We're both scandals ourselves_ , they thought at the same time. _We cannot return to Dorne as we were before we left._

She gave him a curious look. "What were you doing behind the corner?" she asked.

Once, the sudden flush of his cheeks would have amused her but now her heart was too heavy for anything to lift the burden. "I… I was only…"

"You were watching Aegon's door, weren't you?" she asked, suddenly realizing the truth.

His blush deepened. "He still has much to learn," he said, defensively. "If I wanted to, I could have run him over from behind the corner before he had the time to react."

Elia stopped near the staircase and looked at him, troubled. "I'll talk to Ser Gerold," she said.

"No, Princess, it'll be better if I do it," Arthur immediately suggested, scared that the White Bull might make it clear that according to him, she had no right to meddle in the way the Kingsguard carried out their duty anymore.

Not that he might not say the same to Arthur… Since his release from his oaths had been made public knowledge, none of his former brothers had much to say to him, save Jaime Lannister. Even the boy's loyalty couldn't soothe the bitterness of the men he had been sharing his life with for so many years turning their backs on him.

_Did I do the same to her_ , he wondered, staring at the olive face so very near him. _How can I keep living if I did the same to her?_

Would his brother, his real brother, treat him like the ones he chose did? Arthur had… well, he had quarreled with him and then betrayed him when he had betrayed Dorne and the woman standing next to him.

She looked aside, tears brimming in her eyes. "I am being unreasonable," she said. "He's going to learn, the boy. And Aegon is in no real danger within these walls. I suppose… I suppose I am just overconcerned now that…"

"I am sorry," Arthur whispered. "If I could give him to you, Princess, I would. But Dawn is not strong enough to win him from the Seven Kingdoms."

"Would you?" Elia asked sharply, regretting this brief moment of weakness. "I cannot imagine the King would order you to!"

He recoiled, as if he had been slapped. _I deserve it_ , he reminded himself, yet despite the pain, for a fleeting moment there was something gleeful making his way into his soul. For the last four years, he had only seen the smoothly serene face Arianne Martell had shown to the world and it was so very encouraging to glimpse a bit of Alric Gargalen's poison.

Elia headed downstairs and he followed. In the torchlight of the lower floors of Maegor's Holdfast, they walked side by side, lost and lonely, as apart as ever before.

* * *

The rooms the Master of Ships had been lodged in were of the finer ones the Red Keep had to offer – with heavy curtains, Myrish carpets and lots of windows looking at the sea – a very fitting sight, indeed. There was enough room for all his attendants, yet the small antechamber his manservants were supposed to sleep in had been unoccupied since he first came – he didn't require his attendants being close at night and he had been quite happy to leave them in their own small chambers.

He had brought lots of books and charts with him but nothing personal – no tapestries, no portraits. His bedchamber could belong to any wealthy lord in the Seven Kingdoms, so uniform it was. Or it had been before Naeryn Sand started spending the night here more often than not. Now, it was all Myrish bedcovers and bright curtains, blood orange peels burned in the hearth to fill the chamber with the smell of home, and goblets enameled with scenes from the history of Dorne. He had no idea how she had managed to bring all of this in but it looked like every night, he was greeted with a new piece of furniture that he barely noticed, too focused on the waiting arms that wrapped around his neck so sweetly. Light and dark. Passion and politics. Sharp wit and sexual appeal. He no longer knew what Naeryn was or rather, he knew she was all that and many other things he would never get to reveal, for she would leave the next day. The thought of this aggrieved him more than he had expected, for she was more than a desirable bedmate. She was also a good company, someone who made him laugh – a combination that was not so easy to find.

"Good evening, my lady," he said as he removed his clothes. Sometimes, she helped him and he was always astounded at her fluid movements. He could only guess how much effort she had put into this. Tonight, though, she was not so quick to turn to him and as he approached the bed, he realized why it was.

"It looks worse than it is," she assured him. The gaping wound on her jaw and cheek was still raw and oozing blood. He leaned over to inspect it.

"What happened?" he asked and she shrugged.

"I fell down," she said. "Nothing out of ordinary."

He touched the end of the wound, very gently, and saw the same rawness on the stump her slender forearm ended up with. _She tried to stop herself from falling entirely but because she has no hand, there was nothing that could really take the blow_ , he realized. Uninvited, the question came to his mind: what had her childhood been, growing up like that? She must have been covered in wounds until she learned to walk steadily. His own children had tripped and fallen for years afterwards – had she hit her head every time? He brushed the wound with his lips, very tenderly, and then did the same with the stump.

Tears shone in her eyes as she dragged him to lie down beside her. "Anders," she suddenly asked, "how old are you?"

He looked at her, surprised. "Fourty eight. Why are you asking?"

Naeryn smiled. "Today, I am turning twenty eight," she said. "That means I am exactly twenty years younger than you."

He smiled back at her, kissing her on both cheeks and then those red lips. "I wish you had told me beforehand," he said. "Now, I don't have a present to give you."

She shrugged quite nonchalantly. "There was no need," she said. "I am not the one for presents."

"Still," Anders insisted. To his surprise, he felt stung by this small rejection, her reluctance to share this good moment with him. "Well," he said after a while. "I suppose you can tell me about the presents you got."

She lay down and tugged at him impatiently to join her. "I am not the one for presents," she said. "And I don't celebrate my nameday anyway."

He paused halfway through the motion, staring at her. "I never met anyone who doesn't like presents," he said. "Or their nameday."

Her eyes turned cold. All of a sudden, the candlelight no longer flattered her fair beauty. Instead, it lit the bristled features of a defensive cat. He realized his mistake a moment too late.

"I never asked to be born," Naeryn said coldly. "Never."

"I am sorry," he said softly, blowing the candles out and lying down next to her. "I didn't mean to offend."

The fight went out of her and she snuggled close, seeking his embrace. "I am sorry as well," she murmured. "I know you meant well. My nerves are quite raw tonight, that's all."

He stroked her back. "Are they raw each time you have a nameday?" he asked, carefully. _Is this the way you grew up_ , he wanted to ask. He remembered his own namedays, as well as those of his children. The laughter. The cheerfulness. The delight in the presents. The thought that she might have never had those made him sad beyond reason.

She nodded against his chest. "It's always been like that," she replied to the question that he had not said aloud. "And they aren't to blame. They tried, they really did. They did everything a child could expect. But since I can remember, I could tell that it wasn't the same with Elia and Oberyn. Or the rest of them. For them, it was real, the joy. In the beginning, I thought it was different for me because they were ashamed that I could not open my presents on my own like the other children. Or even because everyone would be watching me and I couldn't feed myself entirely… it took me a while to grasp it, you see. But even when I learned how…" She paused. "At the end, I decided to spare everyone the torment. Myself, most of all. And we were all happier for that."

"All of you?" he murmured, feeling his anger rising. How could have anyone believed that she'd be happier if the world simply forgot about her nameday? A small voice in his head told him that he was the last person who had the right to judge Aelinor Gargalen's mothering of this particular child of hers but he refused to pay it any mind. Even now, he could not imagine not giving presents to his children for their namedays. He simply had to send them a lot earlier.

"All of us," she said so convincingly that he could have believed it, had it not been for the hand and stump holding onto him desperately, as if she was trying to soak his warmth in.

_Not the way I wanted to spend our last night together_ , Anders Yronwood thought and tightened his arms around her, suddenly scared that in the morning, he could do the unthinkable – ask her to stay.

 


	12. Tame the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed!

They approached the great castle in the aftermath of a fierce storm that had finally exhausted its wrath. The sky was so clear and vibrantly blue that it looked like the Seven had decided to show them their might… and the caprices of all their whims. As they rode forward, Elia saw many peasants hurrying to make sure that their harvest lay safely under the cover of ice. Still, there was no panic evident in their motions. The storm had not even been a particularly vicious one, it seemed. A small smile crept on her lips at the thought of just how used one was to their own way of living. She had thought the rage of the sky easily the most horrifying one she had ever witnessed. Her eyes went wide as they entered the path between the walls that were so thick that she felt like a prisoner while passing between them in a mud that reached quite high up the legs of her sand mare. She barely resisted the urge to look up to make sure that the sun still shone.

She immediately assessed the young man coming to greet her with examining eyes even as she was letting her father assist her into dismounting. Lord Stannis Baratheon came near her, she had already made her mind: an honest man he was but the hardest kind of honesty, for in his dealings with people he would accept nothing more than the absolute truth. His blue eyes studied her openly, so unlike the covert stares various lords and ladies had thrown her way as her journey progressed. She smiled politely, aware that she was the attraction in the courtyard, a repudiated queen traveling to become a ruler of her own.

"My lady," Stannis Baratheon said, bowing over the hand she extended to him. "Welcome to Storm's End."

A smile curved her lips once again. "I was very touched by your gesture of hospitality, my lord. We have started feel tired on our way."

"I hope Storm's End's hospitality will rectify this," Stannis replied. "We have lodgings and a feast prepared for you and your people."

She was barely listening to him, though, despite her best efforts. Her eyes constantly went to the slender figure that now appeared from a door. Despite the years and the wrinkles, the woman's finely chiseled facial lines and deep indigo eyes still spoke of beauty that once must have been unsurpassed. Elia had seen portraits of her in her youth but only now, as she stared at her, she realized that for all her dark complexion, Rhaenys had taken after this woman.

As soon as pleasantries were observed, she walked to the woman and opened her arms to embrace her, struggling not to cling to her as she had done with her father at their first meeting. "Grandmother," she whispered, fighting her tears off.

"My dear girl," Daella Gargalen murmured. "I knew we'd see each other again. I just knew it."

Elia drew back and looked at the beloved face. Her grandmother was almost the same as she had left her eight years ago. She never seemed to age as fast as other people did and Elia wondered why it was. Her perfume wasn't anything that Elia remembered but well, Daella was not a woman to prefer only one or two scents that she liked best. She made constant changes, yet each one of those aromas had the ability to make Elia feel safe and cocooned.

For a moment, Daella's eyes stayed on the man in grey among Elia's party. Arthur had been no less of an attraction than Elia. A former Kingsguard. They brought novelty with them, indeed!

The old woman continued her survey with Rhaenys – and stopped here. The little girl raised her chin defiantly, meeting Daella's intense look with just an intense one of her own. And then, she changed her behavior and crossed the courtyard without hesitating. "Are you going to give me a kiss?" she asked.

"Not until we're properly presented to each other," Daella said sternly, hiding a smile. The girl was so much like Oberyn, so fond of doing the unexpected.

Rhaenys considered this. "Very well, if you think so," she replied. "I am Rhaenys Nymeros Martell." Her voice shook at the still new name but she got it under control in less than a minute. "You are Daella Targaryen Gargalen. Now I know who you are and you know who I am. What about my kiss?" And she offered her cheek, huge indigo eyes staring into huge indigo eyes.

This time, Daella laughed for real, delighted by the swiftness with which the girl had connected the dots as she leaned over to touch the soft skin with her lips. No matter what she looked like, she could feel her age in the creaking of her bones , the dryness of her lips.

Once she got what she wanted, Rhaenys stood next to her mother and didn't say a word more as they were escorted inside.

* * *

"I've been planning to ask him to meet me anyway," Elia said. "You beat me to it. For how long have you been here?"

"Two days," Prince Aemon said, smiling. "We couldn't wait to see you, so we came to meet you."

Elia gave him a skeptical look from her place in front of the hearth. During the last years, Aemon Targaryen had seldom left Dorne. The fires of Summerhal had done him damages that took their toll slowly, insidiously, year by year, especially when he had started aging. Without counting the obvious ones, of course. It was a miracle indeed that his face had been spared, marred only by a single rugged white scar on his cheekbone. "And how did you manage to convince this one to offer you hospitality?" she asked. "He doesn't have the reputation of being overly sensitive to random passangers' plight."

Her cousins Alaenys and Vaela giggled from the bed they had seated themselves on – Elia's bed, if she was not mistaken. "It was Grandmother's doing, of course," Vaela said easily, tucking a wisp of hair back behind her ear. "He could not refuse shelter to such an old and frail lady."

Daella's lips twitched. "Being old does have its perks," she admitted and her eyes sparkled. "Not that young people ever think so. Once, Egg said that he'd like for someone to finish him off once he had celebrated his thirtieth nameday, for he did not want to live once he grew old."

Everyone had a good laugh at the late King's expense. The mood in the vast bedchamber was festive, everyone was happy to be reunited with everyone else, and Elia did her best to hide the bitter streak that was the only dark stain upon her joy: the girls had volunteered for the task to amuse Rhaenys and she responded eagerly, quite pleased to be the centre of so much attention. They would have adored Aegon, Elia knew. Her son had a mischievous streak that would correspond nicely to the one quite evident in her cousins. Alaenys and Vaela were both much younger than her and she had enjoyed playing with them the same way she played with her dolls. It was sheer luck that the girls had survived her, Alynna's, and Lanore's attentions almost unscathed. And Ashara's, of course – that one's most of all! With all her experiments with dyes and face paints, it was a miracle that the girls' skin was still smooth and unblemished and their hair thick and silvery-gold.

Alric gave his mother a skeptical look. "How long did it take him to realize the depth of his mistake?" he inquired politely. "An hour? Or was it two?"

She shook her head. "Just because you cannot bring yourself to be considerate to sweet old ladies, Alric, doesn't mean no one else can."

"Sweet!" Aemon murmured under his breath. For all her nicety, his aunt and goodmother was the only living soul that could scare him out of his wits, for she somehow managed to use her charm and peaceable nature to bring most people just where she wanted them to be. She was all talk about peaceful solutions and being considerate but somehow, she usually ended up the one whose solutions were accepted.

"I do think she's sweet," Rhaenys chimed in, clearly getting over her initial stunned silence caused by the cheerful noise in the chamber, and moved to sit beside Naeryn who had unceremoniously pushed her half-sisters a little aside, so she could sprawl comfortably on Elia's bed – and keep dreaming for Lord Yronwood, Elia supposed, still unable to bring herself to believe it. Naeryn never dreamed of men. And she did not fell in love. She simply did not.

Daella laughed. "I am honoured you think so," she said

"Soon, you won't," Alaenys predicted.

Elia looked at both her grandmother and uncle. "So, how do you find him?" she asked.

"Stannis Baratheon? Just as expected," Aemon said. "Not as I hoped," he added under his breath, quite miserably. He had always gotten along with his nephew Steffon and his sister Rhaelle had always claimed how good it was for her son to have a friend his own mental age. The younger one was quite charming, though. Aemon had met Cassana Baratheon and it was a mystery to him how two people as captivating as his nephew and his wife could be parents to someone as utterly lacking in charm as Stannis. Not that the boy was stupid or bad-looking. Aemon was left with a similar faint feeling of something wasted each time he met a woman who was incredibly beautiful, yet lacking any sexual appeal.

"He was what _I_ expected," Daella said. "A younger copy of my father." She smiled. "It won't be that hard to find a common language with him, you can trust me about this. We'll just have to appeal to his sense of right and wrong – of that, he has plenty. We merely have to put up with the way he goes about it."

"Nothing this big at all," Alaenys muttered with a marked lack of enthusiasm. _It's so easy for Grandmother to say it_ , she thought. _She'll put up with him for a few days and then she'll leave. I'm the one supposed to put up with him for the rest of my life._

Her mother and father both gave her a sharp look that she pretended not to see.

"Would you stop behaving like a child?" Daella snapped. "Just so you know, there are far worse thing in a husband than a grim temper!"

Aelinor looked down. Alaenys and Vaela looked at each other, quite surprised, before remembering the rumours they had heard about the treatment their grandmother had suffered from the hands of her first husband, coincidentally also a Baratheon lord and master of Storm's End.

_That holds true for me, too_ , Elia thought. _Rhaegar might have been far worse than he was._ The thought of leading a life in any way similar to Rhaella's in Aerys' last years made her shiver. Still, she was so happy that she no longer had to tolerate his presence _. Lyanna Stark can have her trophy and keep it, too._ This thought brought a smile to her mouth because she knew Lyanna no longer wanted any part of the trophy. _You wanted him badly enough to not give me even a fleeting thought when you followed him like an obedient puppy as I lay helpless and fought death after doing my duty to him. You will keep him now, want him or not._

Once again, her thoughts went to the little boy she had left behind. No, she did not resent Lyanna Stark for her appalling selfishness of not giving her a fleeting thought in the horrific time after Aegon's birth when she couldn't leave her bed even to go to the privy. But the fact that the girl had placed Aegon's succession and his very life in danger was something she would never forgive, no more than she would forgive her fickle husband. _Former husband_ , she corrected, feeling like she'd been unchained.

She had to win Stannis Baratheon over and come hell or high water, she _would_ win him over.

* * *

The rumours in the great hall started as soon as Elia entered, freshly bathed and immaculately clean. She had even had the time for an elaborate hairstyle. The necklace of pearls and sapphires was more magnificent than anything she had ever worn at King's Landing, anything that could be seen in the velvet boxes where the Queens of the Seven Kingdoms kept their jewels. Alaenys and Vaela wore similarly stunning gems that got the entire hall whispering, overcoming the music. Daella Gargalen smiled, reminded of the reactions she had gotten whenever she had been the one to display the jewels that only a king could buy his queen – or his daughter, in her case. She had chosen to refrain from such accessories for tonight. Let the young ones shine. Still, as she gave Lord Baratheon a covert look, she was suddenly reminded of all those times her father had presented her with those gems, trying in vain to compensate for having made her to endure something no woman should be forced to go through.

Elia did give the watchers their spectacle: smiling and charming, talking animatedly to Lord Stannis who had seated her at his right, acting as if his dour countenance and short replies to her polite questions were the most courteous manners ever. Finally, even he couldn't quite resist her attempts at ignoring his attitude and besides, he could hardly keep scowling at the nice old lady seated at his left. The generous amounts of wine also helped, no doubt, so after a while, Stannis was quite eloquent while explaining why the mere whiff of wind they had encountered on their way here was nothing to worry about.

"Yes," Aemon said doubtfully from his place at Elia's other side. "That was what Steffon once tried to explain to me. I might have even believed him if he hadn't later tried to blame the mud inside my boots to the horrible tempest I had arrived in."

"It _might_ have been the tempest," Aelinor objected. "You never know."

"It might," he agreed. "Or it might have been… Aelinor." And he gave her a look of curiosity that she had never indulged before. A woman was entitled to her secrets.

She shook her head and laughed. "It was Steffon," she said. "He drew the short stick. But the idea was mine. Except for the gum added to the mud. That was Rhaella's stroke of genius." Her smile grew wider. "Regretting your choice of wife already, my lord husband?"

He sighed. "Out of the four of you, you were the only one who truly hated me," he said. "I've always known it."

Stannis' eyes had gone slightly wide, showing that he had listened to their conversation over Elia's silence. "The four of you?" he asked. "I didn't know that my father and you were this close."

Aelinor's smile grew a little sad. "Your father and I were born only two years apart and Rhaella and Aerys arrived shortly after. We were a great company, both here and at King's Landing."

Knowing that his relationship with his late brother had not been great, she decided against adding that she had quite enjoyed lording it over the three younger ones. They had grumbled, occasionally, but they had never truly minded, not like Stannis had probably had.

_We'll never see eye to eye_ , Elia realized. _We'll have to avoid the subject of Aerys in our conversations._ Her feelings for the Mad King were still those of fear and helpless hatred but Aelinor had never seen this man – only the boy she had grown up with. Oh, she would not doubt Elia's words and she would not try to find excuses for Aerys but there would always be this part of her that wouldn't let go of the memory of her childhood companion. Elia was suddenly grateful that her own father had not grown up at court, that he had been just a visitor there, unable to build the bonds the rest of his siblings had with King Aegon's family.

* * *

"What would you have of me, my lady?"

The Lord of Storm's End's eyes were clear, his face set up _. Couldn't he have gotten drunk last night like many a man would_ , Elia thought, but no, not Stannis Baratheon. Many of the Stormlords were still sleeping the last night hangover off but the fact that they had all left the hall quite late into the small hours did not show on his face. She was impressed that the members of his household – his castellan, his captain of guards, his maester, and a few others, among them the famous former pirate with shortened fingers – were not hungover either. He had managed to impose his code on his environment and that was something to be admired. The study itself was a testament to the man's style – simple and functionate. Elia wished there was more light to it, for she always craved light but she could see that there was no way for the sun to reach it – it was dwarfed in the huge shadow of the seaward wall.

His bluntness was disturbing, though. She was used of words wrapped within words, layers of hints around a truth that was to be finally only hinted at and not spoken directly. Even Rhaegar, for all his inability to lie – a very serious flaw in a ruler – was not one to speak plainly. Indeed, whenever his prophecies were concerned, she sometimes had had the feeling that she needed an interpreter! She was most certainly not prepared for someone like Stannis Baratheon.

But she had never been the one to run away from a challenge, so she lifted her chin and replied equally candidly, "Your allegiance."

A wave of astonished whisper went through the right side of the study where Stannis' people had gathered. Elia, her father and grandmother, Aemon and Aelinor, as well as Lord Jordayne, were seated in the left. She had noticed the forlorn look in Arthur's eye when she hadn't included him and she hadn't felt an ounce of pity. _If you wanted to be included and privy to your ruler's plans and politics, you truly should have stayed with Rhaegar_ , she had thought fleetingly. _You thought you could just dance back into our lives and have things be the same? You have my father's acceptance, kind of, but not mine. Never mine._

Lord Baratheon raised his dark eyebrows, waiting for her to explain.

"I am not asking it of you as sovereign which I never was. Neither am I doing it as your Queen, which I no longer am," Elia elaborated. "And I am not asking it for myself. I am asking your heartfelt allegiance for my son who is going to be your king unless other people intervene with evil intentions."

"Do you think she'll do it?" Stannis asked. "I thought all she was after was your husband, not your throne. At least that was the story she tried to sell us after the truth emerged."

He spoke bluntly, without any care for the wound he was supposedly carving into her heart. But Elia had had enough of polite dancing around this very same subject.

Her grandmother looked at her, as if she knew what she was thinking. _My lord father could only find common language with those who were brave and sincere_ , Daella had once said as she related stories of her own childhood and youth to her grandchildren; reluctantly, Elia abandoned the idea of saying that she was absolutely convinced that the she-wolf's ambition knew no boundaries.

"I don't know," she said instead, leaning back more comfortably. "I don't think so. I think she really has too much honour to do this," she went on, acutely aware of the irony that she was speaking of the honour of the one who had not thought twice before performing the most dishonourable act the realm had seen in the last decades or so. "But Alicent Hightower was known as a sweet girl who read to the ailing King Jaehaerys and we know how that turned on. Maybe she's just been playing me all along."

He nodded slowly, his expression that of a man who knew the others wore masks but he was fixed in a permanent honesty himself. Elia focused on the small golden tassel at the edge of the tablecloth, wondering whether the material was a remnant from his father's time, or his brother's. This Lord Baratheon didn't look like someone who'd even think of bringing luxury into his life. She had heard enough about Robar and Steffon Baratheon to know that they had been different.

"Go on," he finally said.

"I am not willing to risk and find out whether my trust in her has been misplaced," Elia said. "And I think you also know just how vulnerable a boy could be to those who wished to rule through him… even if they aren't closely related. I'd like to win your friendship for my son… and myself."

This declaration was so bold that the men in the right side of the room stared at her, mouths agape. Very satisfying. Friendship between Storm's End and Dorne? What was next, suggesting that she'd deal with the Stranger and returning Stannis' dead to him? Yet it was well known that Lord Robar Baratheon had respected few men as he had Alor Gargalen, a Dornishman and Hand of the King. There had been time when the relations between Storm's End and Sunspear had been entirely cordial as well. And Elia Martell had been just as much of victim in the entire base affair that the King had tried to pass for love as Robert and each of the fallen rebels had been. Lyanna Stark, on the other hand…

Stannis Baratheon felt a smile stealing to his lips and didn't try to stop it. After the horror that had been the siege of Storm's End he knew he'd never start a war unless he was absolutely forced to. And if he was going to coexist peacefully with his Dornish neighbours, a cordial relationship would be more than welcome. Besides, the thought of disrupting the King's peace of mind without actually going against his honour as his vassal quite appealed to him. Stannis was well aware that the reason he had suffered lesser repercussions than the rest of the highest ranking ones among the rebels and he hadn't lost Renly the way Ned Stark had lost his firstborn by giving him to be brought at King's Landing was that Rhaegar's opinion of his ability to stir up new trouble for his reign was insultingly low. It was true that half of the Stormslords had supported Aerys against Robert, something that still ate at Stannis, for he didn't want or need such traitors but he was powerless to get rid of them – but it had been Robert's own fault and not Stannis' at all. Robert's disinterest in the wellbeing of his lands had steered many of those who otherwise would have followed their liege lord straight into Aerys' hands. But Stannis was the one who was considered not a worthy enough foe. Yes, he'd enjoy giving Rhaegar Targaryen some trouble of mind wondering what his former wife and his former foe were up to. And if the wolf girl had plans of her own, if Lyanna Stark had managed to outwit Elia Martell, well, then Stannis Baratheon wouldn't just sit down and watch how the bastard born in the unholy union she and the King pretended was marriage, sealing it with Robert's blood, tried to usurp the place of the lawful heir.

"I will not do anything against my king," he warned. Dornishmen were known for their treachery, after all.

"I am not asking you to," Elia replied immediately. " _I_ will not do anything against my king either. I am simply trying to look for my son and the law."

And in this instance, they were one and the same.

He rose from his heavy oak chair and went to hers, briefly wondering whether she felt uncomfortable in the bare wood with no cushions.

"As long as my honour doesn't demand something else," he said, "I'll keep to our arrangement."

The Dornishwoman nodded and reached for his hand, like a lord would. He was surprised how strong the handshake of her delicate fingers was. His own rough palm pressed a ring deeply against her flesh but she didn't even change her breathing; when they parted hands, she didn't reach to twirl the ring and relieve the pain.

"I'd like to seal the agreement with more than mere words," she said, just when he thought they were done.

He scowled. His word had the weight of a written treaty; it was offending that she would even…

Maester Cressen shook his head slightly, as if warning him not to jump to conclusions yet; fuming, Stannis waited to see what she had to say.

"I'd like to have you not only as a friend and ally but a kinsman," Elia Martell elaborated.

His eyes hardened. She was not going to suggest that he married a bastard sister of hers even if she had one such who was unwed, right? She wouldn't dare.

Elia smiled once again without the slightest unease. "You've already met my cousin, Princess Alaenys, haven't you?"

It was a rarity that either girl was addressed as Princess, although they were such. Usually, they went by Lady Alaenys and Lady Vaela, just like their mother didn't use the style her marriage to Aemon Targaryen entitled her to.

Stannis was quite annoyed to realize that instead of thinking strategically, of alliances and advantages, his thoughts went straight to smooth creamy skin and huge lilac eyes. A bride should be considered first as a match, as an asset. Why should it matter whether she was beautiful or not?

He looked at the girl's parents. "I thought she was already spoken for," he said. "Your younger daughter is already betrothed to Lord Yronwood's heir, I believe? I presumed that…"

Aemon left his goblet on the table. "Let's say that our choice of name brought Alaenys some advantages we did not expect," he said. "Aerys and Rhaella felt that a girl named so should receive special treatment. In the moment, Alaenys is a far more desirable bride that we ever let on. Not meant for an Yronwood."

_Meant for me_ , Stannis thought. _That's why they betrothed the younger girl before the elder one._ He had heard the tales of how charming and generous Aerys had been early on. A girl born to people he remembered fondly and named for his late mother could very well be a better match than any Lord Paramount's daughter. All the things he could do with a dowry like this one danced in his mind: repair the fortifications sooner than he had planned, add some new buildings, buy more produce to stock so his people would not starve even after the most torrential rains, accept new knights into his service, build some new ships… That was without even taking into account that the girl's blood was purer than Rhaegar's own, untouched by the Blackfyre corruption. That was a match that would bring him not only Dorne's friendship, for it was well known that Doran Martell had cared for his kin deeply and there was no reason to think that Elia Martell would do less, so they would hardly make intrigues against him. It would elevate his prestige that was quite shaken after the shameful defection of all those bannermen to Aerys.

"That's all very good," Maester Cressen said in his soft pleasant voice. "But an impeccable lineage and a rich dowry won't count for a thing if the lady cannot fulfill her main duty. I saw her in the hall and if I can be so bold…"

He gave his lord an expectant look and Stannis nodded at him to continue.

"She's quite slender," the Maester said. "I suppose she's quite narrow-hipped and that might make childbirth hard or even impossible for her."

"What nonsense," Daella cut in. "What, maybe I haven't been slender all my life? Maybe I didn't give birth to such healthy and handsome children?" She pointed at Alric and Aelinor with her chin. "Maybe Aelinor didn't give birth to the beauty we're discussing right now? You were the one who helped Maester Callar deliver Alaenys and her twin brother from the same narrow hips you're now proclaiming barren. Or have you forgotten already?"

Maester Cressen blushed and didn't say a word, and the matter was decided.

 


	13. Home and Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who reviewed. You are such a help.

There were many things that could be said – that had, in fact, been said – about the notorious pair Aemon and Aelinor Targaryen. Some of them were even true. But no one could ever say a thing about the way they had brought up their children. Their eldest son was currently toiling in the Dornish fleet under the brilliant mastery of the trade and the bad temper of the third in rank there, their youngest resided in the Water Gardens still and their daughters knew how to comport themselves. No one who saw them could take him for anything but what they were: royalty, graceful and dignified, despite never having been at the King's court. Now, as they rode up the Red Mountains, the joyful sereneness on Lady Alaenys' face completely masked her fear, her reluctance to live the rest of her life here, in this stormy land, with the man who was a storm by himself – a storm that would not roar and drown everything in a downpour but would unleash a hail whenever he felt like it, destroying the world – or at least, his immediate environment – with no more malice that the hail would. A man whose brother had had her uncle and two of her cousins murdered simply because of their Targaryen blood. If she shared her disappointment with her sisters, no one else knew. But it was not likely anyway – Vaela would probably tell her to rejoice in the fact that her betrothed was young and strong and Naeryn would simply roll her eyes and say that it depended on Alaenys to turn the storm into a soft rain. Of course, Alaenys would not discuss the matter with Naeryn at all, for she could see how petty she would look to a woman who had no chance of making a match that was nearly as good through no fault of her own.

"I believe he'll treat her as he should," Alric said as they neared the Boneway.

"I hope so," Aemon replied. "He has no reason not to."

"It went more smoothly than I could ever hope."

"And in time. We needed to reach accord immediately to neutralize any further moves from King's Landing."

Alric's hands gripped the reins more tightly. "What moves?" he asked sharply. "If you're talking about Rhaegar's attempts to sway the mountain lords and ladies…"

Aemon's face was grim. "He did worse," he said. "Or better, I suppose, depending on the point of view." He paused. "He approached Mikkel," he said.

For a moment, Alric thought he had not heard right. Surely Rhaegar wouldn't dare…? He'd know that Mikkel would be the last person on this earth who would support him in his wish to gain Dorne? The slight to his niece aside, Mikkel had lost his own, much beloved son in the battles.

Then, another realization hit him so hard that he felt he could not breathe anymore. Why was he learning about this from Aemon? Why Mikkel hadn't written to him in person? He had received ravens from his brother almost every week, yet Mikkel had never mentioned the proposal. That could mean only one thing: that he had actually contemplated the offer. "What?" he asked. "What did the King want?"

Aemon looked aside. "He was desperate to win some of the major lords to him. And Mikkel would have been a great asset, for more than one reason."

"Don't lecture me on what a fine asset my brother would make!" Alric seethed. "What I want to know is what the King offered him."

"He refused," Aemon said, quickly. "Don't forget it, Alric. At the end, Mikkel refused."

"What," Alric asked once again through clenched teeth, "did Rhaegar offer?"

"The chance of ruling Dorne in his name," Aemon said. "And pardon for Gillerd. A permission for him to come home."

"A bribe," Alric said dismissively. "What could move Mikkel to even consider this?"

He realized how stupid his question had been almost immediately. Aemon only looked at him, astounded. For a moment, they both remembered Gillerd as they had last seen him six years ago, being led out of the Tower of the Sun after Doran had proclaimed him guilty in the murder of a man who had been unarmed in full view of five witnesses. Gillerd had been exiled from Dorne this very same day, over the strong protests of many who felt that he should have died for his deed and had gotten away lightly only by the benefit of being a Gargalen and others who insisted that Doran should have never condemned him at all. This very day his wife, Alric's daughter Loreza Sand, had killed herself. They had lost both of them. Arianne who had been lingering for a while had died shortly before that. This had been one of the darkest periods in Alric's life.

"Love," Aemon now said flatly and sighed. "Remember, he's one of the only two sons Mikkel has left now."

Alric stared right ahead, his anger at his brother shifting and focusing at the one who was really to blame – their damned king.

For many hours, they didn't say a word, both thinking of better, easier times.

Up and up the group went until suddenly after a turn in the road they saw it – the old castle perched on a rock with its massive walls and high towers, surprisingly graceful, reaching up for the brilliant sky that bathed the grey stones in bluish light. Rhaenys gasped in wonder and without thinking, spurred her pony forward. Alric smiled, for he had already recognized who the child would favour in her pursuits and it wasn't Elia. Fortunately, it wasn't Rhaegar either. She would fit perfectly amidst the Sand Snakes. His smile turned sad when, unbidden, the memory of Arianne came to him. _Sometimes, I can swear this child is her uncle's daughter and not mine_ , Doran had often said with straight face, making both Oberyn and Arianne laugh.

Elia did not call her daughter back. Instead, she, too, rode forward, breathing fully air that suddenly felt so much sweeter. "Dorne," she breathed, her eyes sweeping over the rock, the castle and the deep gorge below, at the mountain tops framing the central tower from behind. "I am home."

The rest of their escort had not caught up with them yet when the castle reminded them that it had initially been built as a single watchtower: they were spotted. The huge gates opened, leaving a single rider through.

Lord Toral Wyl, the master of the castle and everything around, was a tall handsome young man. Since he was a few years older than Elia, he had already left the Water Gardens when she was born and she didn't know him all that well. She remembered his father, though, and now saw that Toral had inherited the blue eyes and blonde hair of his mother – traits passed to many Yronwoods save the current lord. At approaching them, Toral dismounted and went for Elia's sand mare with his head bowed, as a bannerman to his liege. "My lady," he said and bowed deeply. "You are most welcome."

She smiled slightly. "I could not pass one of my most valiant bannermen by, let alone miss the chance to visit with such an old and cherished friend as your lady wife."

He smiled back. "She's been waiting for you in days," he said. "Shall we go, then?"

Elia gasped with delight when she saw the party gathered in the bailey: Lady Blackmont and Elvar, Lord Fowler and his family, the young Lord Manwoody, a young man who her father quietly informed her was Lord Yronwood's heir... It looked like every major House from the Red Mountains had come to meet her. She smiled at Alynna and held out a hand for Arel to kiss, acknowledging the new kinship between them. Even Lord Qorgyle had gone all the way from his the desert seat to greet her. She was slightly disappointed not to see Oberyn anywhere but she reasoned that someone had to stay in Sunspear. Her uncle Mikkel Gargalen was here, though, and the sight of him made her as happy as the sight of her grandmother had.

Ashara made a step towards her and sank into a deep curtsey. Elia embraced her, held her tight and tried to stop the tears from falling. "I never thought I'd see you again," she whispered. "Never."

"And I always knew we'd meet one day," Ashara lied. "Here, at home."

_At home_ , Elia mused, taking in the castle, the mountain, the solid walls. How strange that after all their travels, after residing in King's Landing and having all the reasons in the world to believe that they'd made their lives there, they had come back where they had started.

"I have started again," Ashara murmured. "And now, so will you."

Elia drew back and smiled bravely. Ashara looked at the newcomers and swept a quick curtsey to Alric. Her eyes went past Arthur with horrifying indifference before she stepped back to leave the rest of them greet their princess.

Mikkel embraced Elia; she was startled when she saw how old he had grown in the years apart. As Lady Blackmont made her curtsey, Elia examined Elvar and saw, relieved, that if there were any difficulties in the short time since his unexpected wedding, they did not show.

"You look fabulous," Elvar whispered when he embraced her. "Were it not sorely needed, I would rather have you stay unwed. Freedom does you lots of good."

She chuckled and then tensed, when the young Ser Cletus Yronwood bowed respectfully. "Welcome home, my lady," he said.

She inclined her head. "Thank you, my lord. I am very happy to be in Dorne again and even more so to have a friend be the first one to meet me."

He looked up, straight in her eyes. "I can be the staunchest of friends, my lady," he assured her.

She stared back, intently. Was he sincere? He looked like he was but she didn't know him; it was hard to tell. Fortunately, he was quite eager for his wedding to take place as soon as possible and given the fast eager look he gave Vaela, politics had little, if anything, to do with it. _If he doesn't mean it fully yet, he will soon_ , Elia thought and smiled, accepting his assurances.

* * *

"Will this chamber be comfortable?"

Ashara's voice was politely interested, the one of a hostess concerned with her guest's comfort. Her eyes did not avoid Arthur's but they were just as polite and dispassionate as her tone.

"More than comfortable, thank you," he said and it was more than mere courtesy. Compared to his cell in the White Tower, this chamber could pass for a throne room – a heavy carpet, a soft bed, carved chairs and tables. There was a coffer for attires that he did not have. Pain shot through him at remembering that ten years ago, he would have simply entered his brother's chamber without thinking twice and taken some of his clothing. They had traded attires regularly then.

Ashara nodded. "I'll send someone with refreshments. The dinner will be laid out in the great hall."

_Wait_ , he wanted to say. Stay a little more. He had thought that the fight with his siblings over his past behavior would be painful; now he realized that he much preferred a fight over this chilling indifference – Ashara playing a hostess, Arel talking animatedly to everyone in Elia's party but sparing for Arthur only the merest formalities.

He stared at his sister as she went for the door. Married of four years and a mother of two with a third on the way, Ashara was no longer the willowy slender maiden from the royal court but now she was possessed of a beauty that was more mature, composure that had overlaid her features with the unmistakable seal of contentment. _She thought she was so different, yet she was only beautiful_ , Arthur thought. _I thought I was different, yet I was only good with sword._ Ashara had found her place with a conventional husband but Arthur was still looking for his.

Laughter and shrieks brought him to the window. Ashara followed and smiled at the sight of the children that had run out in the courtyard. Arthur stared at the dark-haired boy who looked oldest. "Is this your son?" he asked and Ashara shook her head.

"He's Alynna's," she said.

"And…" Arthur started and immediately wished to take the word back. But Ashara had understood.

"And Errol's," she said coolly. The child brought into this world already an orphan, the child born mere days before his mother wed Arel Dayne in bout of fear and despair. As I served the ones who made all of that happen.

She pointed at another boy, younger and fair-haired. " _This_ is Edric," she said.

_So, this is the future lord of Starfall_ , Arthur thought just as the child fell down, hit his head, rose, wiped the blood off his mouth and kept running around.

"Arel must be very happy," he said. "A healthy heir after Shanai's three miscarriages."

He meant to sound light, hoping to lure her into a conversation. Instead, she turned to face him, her eyes furious. "Five," she said. " _Five_ miscarriages."

"I didn't know," he said, feeling a surge of sadness. "Arel didn't tell me."

Ashara smiled tautly. "I am sure you will excuse him for not going to that tower to inform you in person. Although I am sure he would have, had he known you were there. Or maybe he wouldn't have, being crushed by Shanai's death and so on. I might have come but you failed to inform us."

"One of my many failings," he said sarcastically.

Once, Ashara would have fallen into his trap, staring the row he needed so desperately. Now, she didn't. "Yes," she said coolly without entering into dispute.

_You failed Elia, you failed me, you failed Arel, you failed Rhaenys and Aegon, you failed Errol, you failed everyone who you grew up with and who is dead while you sat the war you helped created away, you failed Dorne._ He heard it very clearly without her saying it.

A moment later, she was out of the room and he was standing back at the window, desperately trying to get himself warm and failing at this, too, because the cold was not coming from the outside but dwelled within his heart.

* * *

"Are you happy?"

Alynna looked at Elia from the coffer she had seated herself on. For once, Elia looked so invigorated and full of energy that they could be mistaken for each other, for they were born strikingly similar to each other in looks. They hadn't seen each other since the rebellion, when a desperate Alynna, recently widowed and a mother again, had begged Arel Dayne, a lifelong friend of both her and her late husband, to marry her and protect her, promising him an heir in exchange. Few marriages had started with less happiness.

"Yes," Alynna said. "I am very happy."

Elia left the silver hairbrush on the dressing table, rose and came near to examine her cousin's face and judge the sincerity of her reply. Alynna met her eye calmly, unflinchingly. Elia felt incredibly happy for her and at the same time, filled with hope for herself. If Alynna who had been in a marriage of shared love and trust had managed to find happiness again with a man she had married for a deal, then Elia stood a chance as well.

Once again, she embraced Alynna and decided that in two days, she'd leave. Ashara's hospitality was flawless but Elia could not wait to reach Sunspear – and the beginning of her new life.

 


	14. Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed for keeping me inspired!

After enjoying Lord and Lady Wyl's hospitality for two days, Elia made her progress through the Red Mountains, to Kingsgrave, Skyreach and finally Godsgrace where she boarded a ship that took her down the Greenblood. At Planky Town, her retinue found a grand reception by the town merchants and after another day of festivities, they mounted their sand steeds to make the last leg of the road, the ride that would lead them to Sunspear without further delays.

The city appeared before them in the bright morning of the second day of their journey, glittering like an enormous gem under the sun gilding all the roofs. Elia stared at the Threefold gate which slowly opened, at the crowds gathered on both sides of the passage and made an effort not to cry with both joy and sadness at seeing how severely decimated the population of Sunspear was. Here she was, in the land of her birth, the greatest love of her heart, closely after her children. The magnificence of King's Landing could not hold a candle to that, not to her. At this moment, she could not imagine how she had managed to leave without her heart breaking. Dorne was in her blood, as imprinted in her soul as the words of her House. She saw in the distance the towers of the Old Palace and her heart rose at the sight.

Next to her, Rhaenys murmured, "It isn't like a true city."

Elia's joy faded a little. Her daughter had been too silent and withdrawn ever since they had left King's Landing, preferring to stay close to Naeryn and her sisters or clinging to her grandfather whenever Alric could find the time. She could not share Elia's excitement at being home. To her, this wasn't home.

"It is the closest thing to a city that we have," she replied neutrally, realizing that unlike her, Rhaenys would need to be taught to love the land she would rule one day.

Her daughter nodded and smiled a little. "But the sun is so warm," she said, trying to find something nice to say – an art Elia had taught her carefully. She was determined that her children would have manners.

"It is," Elia agreed, grateful that Rhaenys had inherited her own tone of skin. Her Targaryen-looking cousins encountered more difficulties keeping their skin from drying up and cracking.

They had not gone through the gate yet but there was already a deafening roar of welcome. Elia tugged at the reins to slow her sand mare down and looked at her father, her heart suddenly in her throat. Alric smiled and kept his stallion back, so she would go first. "It is for you, Elia," he said, as if she didn't know. "They are welcoming you home."

She drew a breath and pressed the mare with her heels.

As she passed through the first gate, the shouting rose, easily rivaling the thunderstorm that had accompanied them to Storm's End. "Long live our princess Elia, Arianne's daughter!"

Rhaenys looked up, astounded. _Of course, she's seen Rhaegar being applauded, and me as well,_ Elia thought. But that was something different. Rhaegar was no longer the silver prince adored by everyone and Elia had been – well, his queen. Here, in the heart of her own land, where the popularity of the Martell line was as strong as ever, bordering on fanatical, the earth really shook with the cry echoing through the city and soaring to the sky until Elia thought that every youth, every old wife, every battered man at-arms was repeating it, shouting themselves hoarse.

"Long live Elia! Long live our princess!"

Rhaenys was trying to tell her something, her eyes incredibly wide, but the noise drowned her voice. Those who had accompanied her to King's Landing were smiling; the few members of her entourage that had preferred following her instead of staying in the Crownlands where their only option would be to serve Rhaegar's now only queen or return to their families who had been quick to get rid of them by sending them to serve Elia in the first place, looked stunned by the enthusiastic welcome. Hating herself for her weakness, Elia cast a secret look behind, at the end of the procession where Arthur rode. He grinned at her, for a moment looking as young and carefree as he had been years ago. She smiled back and saw how his face lit up.

Her next look was for her father. Alric, too, was smiling but in his eyes, there was sadness that he could not completely chase away. Was he remembering all the years when he had been listening to these same crowds applauding Arianne? Was he thinking of Doran who had also been loved and cheered? For a moment, Elia saw him as he was – an aging man who had lost so many of those who had given his life meaning and light. But then he sat up straighter and his determination took over as usual. Elia even wondered whether she had seen this moment of weakness, or it had been all in her mind.

Each step leading her to the Old Palace made her more joyful, so she was not prepared for the grief that crashed all over her the moment the gates opened. This was her childhood home, the home of her joy, and now she returned as a mother without her son, a daughter without her mother, a sister without her brother, a woman in love who did not trust her beloved, a repudiated queen without the royal match she had left for nine years ago… Everything was different, so many and so much gone.

Oberyn appeared in the courtyard in the exact same moment as her; trembling, she let him assist her in dismounting and then, with a shock that jolted her, she felt him bowing his head to her hand, the one with the ring seal.

"My lady," he said formally, "I swear my fealty to you."

His voice was steady, his eyes – as hopeless as her own.

He had made preparations for their arrival – or rather, his paramour had done so. Elia was quite curious to see the woman her father spoke so fondly of. A lady who had been able to keep Oberyn Martell at her side for three years and win Alric Gargalen's appreciation, let alone Naeryn's friendship, was surely someone special.

"Do you want me to show you to your room, Rhaenys?" Oberyn asked. "Or would you rather stay with your mother for now?"

Rhaenys was staring at the portrait on the wall in the hall they were passing through. "Who is she?" she asked.

"This is Princess Daenerys," Elia explained. "She came here many years ago to marry Prince Maron Martell. You know the story."

Rhaenys nodded. "I'll stay with you, Mama," she said but she wasn't in a hurry to look aside from the other Targaryen princess who had come here because she had been told to.

Scared that she'd encounter her carefree past the moment she stepped into her old bedchamber, Elia was immensely relieved to see that everything had been refurnished. Not a single candleholder was where she had left them. The chamber shone in soft golden tones that made Rhaenys gasp in delight. "Mama!" she exclaimed. "You'll be living in the sun!"

Elia laughed, delighted by her daughter's spontaneous joy. When the handmaidens came, she sent them away. "Who needs them anyway?" she asked. "We can attend each other."

Rhaenys agreed immediately and they took a long rest in the carved bed before helping each other wash and braiding each other's hair for the feast.

"You can stay here and have your meal brought to you," Elia suggested. "You're tired."

But Rhaenys only smiled bravely. "I can't miss the feast," she said. "It would be unseemly."

Elia frowned, hairbrush still in hand. Who had been lecturing Rhaenys about seemly and unseemly things? Her septa? Or her grandmother? Elia knew for sure that it hadn't been her.

In the great hall, she had to suppress her desire to go to the seat she had occupied before; instead, she sat in her mother's seat, with Rhaenys next to her. Alric sat on his granddaughter's other side and Elia didn't miss the scowl on her daughter's face as Alric turned to say a few words to a boy about ten who was in no great hurry to take his own seat. Elia's breath caught and she shuddered in superstitious fear. He looked so much like his father! She had last seen him when he was but babe in arms. Again, she felt that feeling of loss, with a tiny flicker of hope. This boy did not look like Loreza at all but he was a little part of her, a little part of Gillerd. _The Seven punished me_ , she thought all of a sudden. When the news about Gillerd's trial and verdict, about the scandal and Loreza's death had reached King's Landing, she had been unable to believe that her cousin was capable of such a cruelty. _How could he leave without his son_ , she had wondered. Now, she had been faced with a similar choice and she had made the same decision with the same belief – that she was acting in her son's best interests. Staring at the seneschal Doran had appointed after old Racasso's death, Ciar of House Targaryen, she was suddenly struck by the thought that he might have been the King, had his circumstances been different. Had Jenny of Oldstones really been so unworthy of being queen? She could hardly imagine anyone being more unworthy than Aerys!

"Where is Ellaria?" Alric asked when the feast began. "I can't see her anywhere."

Oberyn shrugged. "At the Water Gardens. She decided to wait. Said that Elia and Rhaenys would need a few days to settle before adding new faces to the mix."

Alric nodded. "I should have known. This girl is nothing if not tactful. But I hoped to see her and the girls."

"You will," Oberyn promised. "Soon. I intend to take them here for the vow." He smiled. "A little company might do Rhaenys some good."

She did not show that she had heard him.

"You've heard some things about me, I take it?" he asked good-naturedly between bites of venison and although she vehemently denied, Elia realized that it'd take her a lot of time and effort to erase the anti-Dornish sentiments that had been delicately sewn here and there in her daughter's soul, to make her overcome the distrust to her mother's kin. The thought that Aegon might be taught the same things but much more overtly made her eyes swim.

* * *

"He isn't going to spend the day in front of her door, is he?" Oberyn asked, not bothering to lower his voice. "That's too… Kingsguardlike."

He spoke the last words with such disdain that Elia sighed, already feeling the first clash before the end of her first night in the Old Palace. Arthur's face didn't change as he kept giving orders to the household knights in a corner of another, smaller hall where the daily affairs were conducted. Elia did not stop him. She had promised Rhaegar that Arthur would be able to _keep an eye on Rhaenys_ , whatever that meant. Right now, it clearly meant an obsession with her safety.

"I might make him her sworn shield," she said, and Oberyn huffed.

"Why not?" he said. "Let's give him the chance to sniff at what we do and say and relay it to his master, right? Why did you bring him along at all?"

The way he said it made it sound like Arthur was a dog on Rhaegar's leash. _Not quite unfair_ , Elia thought as she absent-mindedly noticed the lingering look one of the knights was giving her. It felt so nice to be looked at with admiration and desire. _Did he not act like an obedient dog when Rhaegar demanded that he betray me? Well, I'll honour my part of the deal: I'll give him what I promised Rhaegar, this and nothing more. I am home and I have a city to rebuild, justice to dispense, and my daughter to take care of, and I have sunlight that I haven't seen the like since I left. I don't need Arthur Dayne. I don't. I don't._

 


	15. New Things and Old Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my heartfelt thanks to everyone who left a comment.

It was barely her second day at Dorne, and Rhaenys was already overwhelmed. It was too much, everything was too much. The sun was too hot, the meals too spicy, the speech too slow. The bed too soft. Everything was so different, so new. She had hoped that at least she'd get to spend the morning with her mother but she was told that Elia had been immersed in other duties since before dawn. Her grandfather had left the palace for the day and while Naeryn and her sisters were welcomed her and she was as happy in their company as ever, the time came when they had to part ways and she was left once again in the _newness_ of everything.

Plans had been set in motion about her household but in the aftermath of the plague and bandit infestation, the arrival of her new attendants was still being delayed. And there were few girls for her to play with… well, in fact there weren't any. Right now, this wasn't such a bad thing. Rhaenys really didn't want to see anyone and make an effort to be polite. Instead, she went out in the gardens, made a point that even most of the flowers were unknown to her, and threw herself on the ground, shaking with sobs, not even trying to hold her voice in. Everything had changed. Why had it changed?

She was not sure how much time had passed, with just her and the insects buzzing around when she felt a little nudge. She looked up.

The boy from the great hall last night, the one her grandfather looked so fond of. He loomed over her, looking at her curiously. Rhaenys wondered just how taller than her he'd turn out to be. He couldn't be that much older, though. He was as olive-skin as her and just as black-haired but his eyes were dark – and curious. The faint breeze stirred his hair a little.

She stared at him without saying anything; with a disturbing lack of manners, he crouched to look her into the eye. "You're Lady Rhaenys," he said. "Princess Rhaenys, I mean."

She nodded. Something in his voice told her that he valued the title _Lady_ more than he did _Princess_. She had noticed it with other people, too, when addressing her mother. _My lady_ , they said with such respect as if it was _my Queen_ that they meant… and more. When aimed at other ladies, the address sounded like nothing special.

"And you?" she asked, still wary of him. She didn't like the fact that Alric showed fondness to him. Alric was _her_ grandfather. Slightly annoyed, she realized that her eyes were swollen and her cheeks wet. He, on the other hand, looked like someone with not a care in the world.

"I live here," he said. "I was supposed to become squire to… but it doesn't matter now, does it?" For a moment, he looked sad. Rhaenys wondered whether his future foster father had perished in the plague. "They'll arrange something for me, I am sure," he added, looking certain that they would. Who _they_ were was yet to be seen… "My name is Laval Gargalen."

She blinked. "You're related to my grandfather?" she asked.

" _Our_ grandfather," he corrected and while Rhaenys was trying to reconcile that with the fact that her uncle Doran's son was dead and Oberyn only had daughters, Laval provided the explanation. "He had my mother with a woman other than his lady wife. Later, she married her trueborn cousin."

Her first reaction was hurt. She wanted to be special for Alric, not share him with a horde of cousins. Sure, she knew he had other grandchildren that he loved dearly but she had hoped to be his favourite. Remembering the obvious affection Alric had shown his grandson, though, it was clear that it wouldn't be the case.

But this new cousin appealed to her. Childhood had a way to do things to people – for a moment, Rhaenys forgot the rift with her old life that she had been sure would kill her, forgot her hopelessness. She simply basked in Laval's tawny skin, a little darker than her own – the sun would fix that, she was sure – and broad smile.

"What do you do all day?" she asked. "I suppose you have your lessons?"

He scrunched his face. "Unfortunately, I do. Maester Caleotte is a tyrant and Uncle Doran should really appoint him lord commander of all…"

Rhaenys was looking at him and saw the moment the playful glow in his eyes flickered and died at the realization that his uncle would never appoint anyone anything.

"Maybe my lady mother can appoint him lord commander of…?" she said and he gave her a weak smile.

"Yes, maybe," he agreed.

Then, he rose to his full height and extended his hand. Rhaenys could only blink at the casual way he did it. No deference. No winded words about whether she'd allow him… _Why not_ , she thought, looking around at the small stream she saw for the very first time, the palace she had only heard about, the flowers that she still didn't know the names of, the small puffs of white on a sky bluer than any blue that she had seen in her life. _Nothing in Dorne is as it should be, so why not this either?_ She took his hand and let him get her to her feet. To her surprise, he seemed to know the exact amount of power his tug needed, so they didn't end up chest to chest.

"Do you do this often?" she asked. "Helping girls rise like this, I mean."

He chuckled and led her to the nearest tree, so they could stand under its shadows. "Do you know how many cousins we have?"

She considered this. "I know mainly about Uncle Oberyn's daughters," she said.

"They are quite… remarkable," he said tactfully. She gave him her best haughty look but it was lost on him. His long acquaintance with the Prince of Dorne and his family had clearly made him invulnerable to such expressions. "And there is quite a big gape in age between us and them. Ellaria's girls, on the other hand, are too young. But they will like you, all of them. Arianne would have, too," he added after a while, in whisper.

Rhaenys didn't know what to say.

"Are you still sad?" he asked after a while. "That's right, you still don't know what a wonderful place you've found yourself in."

He stepped out of the shadow. "Do you want me to show you around the palace?" he asked.

"Yes."

The answer burst out spontaneously. Rhaenys fell in step behind him and when it became clear what he intended to show her first – the hidden corners – kicked her slippers off since they only hampered her in the grass of the park Laval was leading her through, the one that was so heavily shaded by old trees that sunrays never penetrated the canopy overhead and the grass was constantly wet and muddy.

* * *

While Rhaenys was making her first entrance into the world she would come to rule one day, Elia was getting acquainted with it as well – getting acquainted with its darker side, more precisely. In front of her, a mountain of letter apprised her of just how many robberies, abductions, kidnappings, and murders had taken place in the few months between Doran's death and her arrival. "More than Mother ever had to deal in a two year time," she concluded and looked at her father.

"I'm afraid so," Alric confirmed, keeping his own anger in check. Twenty years ago, he would have been just as fuming as his daughter.

The seneschal shook his head. "This is beyond all belief," he said. "I couldn't believe it even as I read it."

 _And why didn't you do something to stop it_ , Elia wanted to snap but she knew the answer: he had done something, as well as Oberyn. In the nerve-wrecking tension, they simply hadn't had enough men to cover the entire area of Dorne. Nothing spread as far as lawlessness.

The more she read and listened, the less she could fathom what she saw and heard. It turned out that no less of twenty three women had been abducted and forced into a marriage because of their wealth… that the Old Palace knew of. Two bands of brigands had been formed on the main road… or maybe three. Thirty seven small estates in the area around Sunspear had been attacked and burned to the ground after they had been pillaged.

Elia's anger grew into true rage with such remarkable speed that Alric and Oberyn looked at each other, uncomfortably and painfully reminded of Arianne's fire and sparks. Sometimes, she had looked as if she truly had brought the sun that was the sigil of her House down to the earth, just so she could use it to burn those who displeased her.

"These people will stop their villainy right now," she spat. "Right now!"

"Have no worry, Elia, they'll get what they deserved," her father said. "What were they thinking, that it'd just go on like this indefinitely? Once again, Dorne has a ruler and by the gods, it won't be them."

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I said right now and I meant right now. I won't wait until I am invested and received the oath. The punitive expedition will take place as soon as we can gather the men."

Once again, Alric looked at Oberyn. Who looked at Ciar. Who looked at Alric. And then, all of a sudden, a wide grin spread across the Red Viper's face. "Have no worry, sister," he said. "I shall love to head such an expedition. I think I can gather the men in no time at all… and leave as soon as I have sworn my oath at the ceremony."

Elia immediately realized that besides wanting to punish the brigands, he wanted to find a reason not to attend a celebration that no doubt would have reminded him painfully of the day the lords and ladies of Dorne had paid homage to Doran. She could not begrudge him that.

"And what about this new way of finding a bride?" she went on. "Twenty three women and girls forced to enter such a monstrosity of marriage! A woman of Larra Blackmont's rank narrowly avoided it! Who do they think they are, those men? What did they supposed that I would do – smile and congratulate them on their bravery?"

"They were simply using the chance they felt had fallen straight into their laps," Alric replied. "No matter how despicable it was," he finished and there was undisguised disgust in his voice. For all the scandals he had caused, Alric had never had a bedmate who hadn't been entirely willing. In his opinion, it would be just as demeaning to him as it would be painful to the woman.

"A good chance, it was," Elia huffed. "Doran knew better."

Indeed, Doran Martell had ruffled many feathers when he had proclaimed rape a crime worthy of a death sentence. A few instances of such a punishment being actually carried out had reduced the frequency of the deed. But abducting a bride was something entirely different. Even under duress, if she said the words and the marriage was consummated, it was real. And violence in marriage was no violence at all, as their grandmother Daella had said bitterly once. No woman could be protected against it, from the lowest fish seller to the King's own daughter or niece.

"I am thinking of making an attempted rape a crime," she said thoughtfully.

"A very bad idea," Oberyn and Ciar said simultaneously, intensifying the headache that had been plaguing her from last night. "An attempted rape is harder to prove," her brother went on. "Doran was met with lots of criticism when he did so with actual rape."

Elia could well imagine what this criticism had been! Her anger only grew at the stark realization that her idea was really one that could never be implemented in the world they lived in. But that also strengthened her resolve to do whatever she could with one who had been proven to have attempted an abduction, rape, and forced marriage.

"Send a summon to Gerold Dayne," she said curtly. "I want to see him here immediately. As well as Symon Santagar, as soon as he arrives."

The men looked at each other again. That was Elia in full battle mode. It was a good thing that the master of High Hermitage deserved it – and the fact that he was too low-ranked to be able to launch a great defense and counter strike, as House Vaith had done a few years ago made it even better.

Elia went to the bug windows and opened them one by one. Sunrays burst in the moderate-sized chamber, exposing everything to the light. Heat came off immediately as well, but Elia didn't mind so much – she wanted to have her doings exposed to the sun, not drowned in half-whispers and concealed in shadows.

Gerold Dayne entered, just as handsome as she remembered and even more cocky. He had grown into a handsome young man but all Elia could feel was revulsion. If she gazed at him with narrowed eyelids, she could imagine that she was staring at the young Arthur… who, a few short years later, would help Rhaegar do exactly what Gerold had tried to do, with the only difference being that at least she had been the only one Arthur hurt. Lyanna Stark had been more than willing. Arthur hadn't actually tried to physically kidnap a reluctant woman. He had just betrayed Elia's trust and everything that had once existed between them… but he hadn't bodily grasped…

Would he have done it? If Lyanna had put up a fight, if Rhaegar had told him to? Elia felt sick at the realization that she didn't know the answer.

Gerold Dayne bowed deeply but there was nothing humble about his expression or voice. "My lady," he said smoothly. "I am happy to see you home."

Elia immediately bristled. She might have spent the last six years neglected by her husband but she could still tell a flirt when she saw one. So, this boy thought he could charm her? Ensnare her into taking him to husband, maybe?

"I am happy to be home, Ser Gerold," she said. She did not sit down, thus keeping him standing as well. The three men had retired unobtrusively to the background. "And I intend to start fulfilling my duties immediately. In fact, I have already started, by summoning you."

He raised an eyebrow, showing surprise. "You mean you have summoned me on business?"

"That's right," Elia confirmed. What else could you think I summoned you for?

"How can I serve you?"

"By compensating the treasury of Sunspear for the offense you've committed by attacking one of House Martell's bannermen with no provocation," Elia said curtly.

He stared at her, so utterly amazed that she thought to stick a finger into his chest, just to check whether he'd fall down.

"What?"

"You have eight days' time," Elia specified.

"You cannot… Has someone issued a complaint against me? Without a formal complaint it's against law…"

He was white now. Elia would like to think that it was out of fear but she suspected that in fact, it was more like rage. In the farthest part of the room, Oberyn make a movement to come to her but their father placed a hand over his arm and shook his head.

"You've broken House Martell's peace," Elia explained in a voice that suddenly rang as hard as Valyrian steel. "This is as much of a crime against me as it is against the bannerman involved. Lady Blackmont, of course, will make her decision on whether to pursue justice for the harm you've tried to inflict upon her. I am certain, though, that the two of you could reach a private agreement…"

"The _three_ of us, rather," he snarled. The thought that the disfigured Sand had effortlessly gained what he had been striving for still burned him like a wildfire. "That bastard brother of yours…"

"Yes?" Elia asked. "You want to fight him? That's a combat I'd like to see."

Indeed, it wasn't. She knew that Elvar was one of the finest swords in Dorne but the same was true for Gerold Dayne – and he was considerably younger than her brother. But she relied on Dayne's natural reluctance to gain more enemies. His House had been on bad terms with Starfall ever since they had tried to take over the government of the castle and estates using the old lord's ailment and his heir's minority. Ashara, now Lady Wyl, had no reasons to wish them good; with Lord Yronwood at King's Landing, his heir ruled in his stead and he'd soon be married to Vaela. Gerold Dayne would be wise not to antagonize almost everyone in the Red Mountains _as well as_ House Martell. If he challenged Lady Blackmont's new husband… if Elvar challenged him… if Larra Blackmont appealed for justice right after paying homage, through the very ceremony… matters could get even more complicated.

"Winning one's bride in fight have always been a way to find one," he said.

"Not here," Elia said coldly. "Not any more."

"I can see why you'd wish so, my lady."

To her dismay, Elia felt herself going pale. That was the first time a Dornishman reminded her of the humiliation Rhaegar had put her through; all of a sudden, she realized how stupid she had been in believing that she had left her past behind. No matter where she went, no matter how many domains she ruled, she'd forever stay the silver prince's unwanted bride, the one he had replaced with a younger and more beautiful one, a bride he had been willing to fight for. Home was not a sanctuary that could protect her; if anything, her enemies here would be better in drawing blood, for they knew her weaknesses.

There was no escape. Once again, she felt like this woman, the woman she had fought so hard to push down and become the invincible, self-confident queen.

Even when he agreed, fuming, to pay the fine required and make amendments to Lady Blackmont, should she seek them, even when he bowed, shaking with rage, even when he glared at her with hatred that only being beaten could bring out, she could not help but think that he had won.

* * *

"Where are you going?"

Elia stared at Arthur, stunned, still in the middle of the stairs she had been descending. In almost ten years, he had never dared to ask such a question. To demand… an answer.

He seemed to have taken her shocked silence as admission of a terrible sin because his face fell. In a soft voice, he said, "Please. Can we talk?"

Elia hated herself for being unable to say _no_. That was the defect she resented most in herself – her affection for him, despite everything. She had had no problem turning her back to Rhaegar after the war – she didn't care whether he was happy or desperate. Arthur, though, who had been a willing participant in this same scheme… What a weak creature she was!

"Come with me," she said. To her comfort, her voice sounded just as harsh as she wanted it to and maybe even more.

The candles in her solar were still burning. Ellaria Sand whom she still didn't know had made some changes here as well and Elia made herself comfortable on the new settee with fluffed pillows. Arthur stayed on his feet, looking decidedly uncomfortable but determined. _Determined to do what,_ Elia wondered. She had no idea what was going on.

"Speak," she ordered. "Explain. What has gotten into you?"

"Where are you going?" he asked. "What are you planning to do, Princess?"

Elia had no idea how he knew. She couldn't see just how much like her mother she looked like, in her daring Dornish gown, with a peculiar smile on her lips. Arthur had seen the late Lady of Dorne in the evenings when she had gone to the great hall with a very distinct intention while her husband was away. Elia did not resemble her mother much, physically, but the manners and expression could not be mistaken. Not by Arthur's jealous eyes. He had put up with four years of looking at her with Prince Rhaegar when he hadn't been entitled to say a thing. Not that he was entitled now but at least he wasn't bound by his Kingsguard oath anymore. And they were in Dorne.

"Leaving your silver prince in the past," Elia said coldly. "I don't think I need to explain just how I am going to achieve it."

Arthur went a little paler and clung to the least important part of her words. "He isn't my silver prince."

"Isn't he?" Elia wondered, raising a dark eyebrow which made him blush.

He could already envision how this would go and he wouldn't allow it. That might be his only chance. "You don't need to go there to do this. You can come back here – with me."

Elia's lips tightened. Despite her vows to control herself, dark flush crept down her cheeks and neck. "Did you not understand my meaning?" Had his years in the Kingsguard made him so imperceptive of other people's meaning in such matters? The Arthur she had loved, the Arthur who had loved her and Naeryn before her would have gotten it immediately.

"I understood it perfectly."

The silence hung heavily. The candles gave a nice aroma of beeswax. They stared at each other, both pale and gaunt, and distrustful.

Arthur made an effort to smile. "I am the kind of man that appeals to you, aren't I? At least, I used to be."

To her own surprise, Elia let out a bitter laugh. "Not quite, Ser Arthur! The kind of man that appeals to me is the kind that doesn't betray me."

"I didn't know it was a betrayal!"

This time, her amazement was such that her jaw actually dropped, quite unflatteringly. With some effort, she managed to take it back. In the moment she needed to regain her gift of speech, he put in. "I didn't know he intended to wed her. I thought he was only going to make her his mistress. Not once did he tell me that he was going to take her to wife. When I found out, it was already too late."

He was going to keep talking, to say the entire wretched truth of the situation – that he had hoped for a rift that would chase Rhaegar from her bedchamber forever, that he had dreamed that with Lyanna Stark openly installed as Rhaegar's mistress he could become Elia's paramour. But something stopped him. She wouldn't believe him. Why should she? He wouldn't believe it that such a stupid man had ever walked under the sun if someone told him either. _What did I expect, for the Warrior's sake? That she would overlook my part in that? That Rhaegar would give us his blessing? That Aerys would never get to know? What did I think was going to happen?_

He hadn't been thinking at all. He had only seen his chance to drive Rhaegar away from Elia, save himself from a life that had looked so glorious when he had been nineteen and hadn't bothered to think that at thirty-nine, glamour might have worn off. Living so close to them – close in every meaning of the word – had stretched his patience quite thin where Elia was concerned. Had he seen her only from time to time, it would have been tolerable. Easier. But in their situation, sometimes he had feared that he'd barge in her bedchamber and throw Rhaegar out if he had to keep spending his nights in front of their door as they were busy creating the heads of the dragon. The Prince's infatuation with the Stark girl had looked like a blessing. And turned into a nightmare! How could he explain _that_?

Finally, Elia gathered her faculties back. "And you think that makes it better?" she asked scornfully, unwilling to admit that it did make it better. He hadn't been a willing accomplice in her humiliation – just her half-humiliation!

By the gods, what was she doing? She was scrambling to find excuses for him! She was not as pathetic as rumours had it – she was far worse. Here she was, home at last, a ruler in her own right, and her stupid heart was still trying to tell her that the key to a better fate was a man. A man who had taken part in humiliating her or half-humiliating her, or whatever the blasted truth was.

Furious at him and even more at herself, she rose and pushed past him without giving him a chance to answer. But in the great hall, his words kept echoing in her head. _"I am the kind of man you like, aren't I? I am the kind of man you like, aren't I? I am the kind of man you like, aren't I?"_

Yes, he was, yes, he was, yes, he was…


	16. Secrets Unveiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, huge thanks to everyone who commented, you do help my inspiration.

They came to him when he had just broken his fast in the apartment Elia had installed him in – a bedchamber with a small antechamber and a solar. It was well appointed and while Arthur wanted to see this as confirmation to Elia's interest in his wellbeing, he knew it was more likely due to the fact that she would seldom make someone's life uncomfortable just because she could. She hadn't done it even with the Stark girl, in the beginning, when the foolish girl had been so crushed under the weight of the reality of what her actions had led to.

Bread and honey, and milk, and blood oranges. Five days into his return to Sunspear, Arthur was still surprised by how much a single meal mattered. At King's Landing, he had gotten used to the daily round of the other Kingsguard, starting the day with a solid breakfast and a few goblets of watered wine; here, he had returned to his one time morning meal almost without thinking. Milk and blood oranges were the best way to fight the swelter as the day rolled away. And bread and honey filled him just like the much more copious morning meals at the Red Keep.

He was just rising from the table when Elia's father entered without much ceremony. _At least he knocked_ , Arthur reasoned, laughably happy to see someone who had come to his chambers, no matter the reason. And then he saw the boy behind Alric and startled, immediately transported to a time of laughter and shining waterworks, and bracing wind with a tang of salt in the seaside castle he had started turning into a man at – a long gone time of dreams.

Alric smiled, pleased by Arthur's reaction. "This is my grandson," he said. "Laval Gargalen. And he is to be your new squire… if you'll have him."

_If I'll have him?_ Was this a jest? Arthur couldn't quite grasp the incredible honour Alric was willing to bestow upon him, a demonstration of esteem Arthur felt he did not deserve at all. He had already heard that there were many lords willing to foster Laval, eager to establish a closer relationship with both Alric and Mikkel. And Elia's father had chosen him?

"I thank you," was all he managed to say. "But why?"

The older man narrowed his eyes. "Because I believe you can still prove yourself worthy. Because I have suffered from other people's cruelty, as well. Because I have also been cruel in my selfishness. I'd like to give you a chance." His black eyes suddenly turned cold. "But not at my grandson's expense. If you treat him in a way I find disgraceful, if you neglect his training, if you teach him the wrong values, I'll destroy you, Arthur. Not send you away or some other half-measure. Destroy you. I want you to think well. Will you still have him?"

Arthur's eyes moved from Alric to Laval. In the boy's eyes, there was a curious mix of awe and resentment that struck a vaguely familiar cord within the knight. _He's heard both sides of what they say about me here_ , Arthur realized. He had had squires before. The memory of his last one, Valler, haunted him still. He had left the boy at King's Landing when he rode at Rhaegar's side for that cursed enterprise of theirs. Valler had perished in the flames of the Red Keep when Aerys had committed his last act of madness. Arthur prayed that the smoke had suffocated him, that he hadn't actually burned in the fire. Valler had admired him, wanted to be like him. Arthur had never taken another squire since then – his sworn brothers were there to help him with the armour and he preferred taking care of his weapons and horses on his own. Could he do it now? Could he take a boy who was already prepared to dislike him, resent him, maybe? But he couldn't take anyone who idolized him either! Not again.

Alric was offering him a chance, though. Showing trust. No one who had seen him with the boy could doubt that he adored Laval. Maybe even more so because the boy's mother was dead. Arthur hadn't known Loreza Sand very well but he remembered her as a kind and merciful lady, worthy of the affection Princess Arianne had shown her and the love her trueborn siblings had borne her. Alric couldn't possibly offer a greater proof of his acceptation of Arthur than entrusting this child to him.

"My lord, I will."

Alric nodded, ever so slightly, and a faint smile played about his mouth. "I'll see you whenever Ser Arthur can spare you," he turned to Laval and without saying anything more to anyone, turned back and left. Arthur and the boy were left staring at each other with the same discomfited expression on both their faces. They didn't know what to do with each other and Arthur knew he was the one who should start. He was the grown man. The knight. His mind was racing from Dawn to his armour when the expression that had suddenly crossed Laval's feature upon entering the room became clear to him. Elia, of course, Elia when she had been staring at him at his much belated return at King's Landing, Elia who had been torn between the boy she had known, the knight she had thought him, and the man who had betrayed her so cruelly.

_I didn't, though. I was selfish and placing myself before everyone else but I didn't know. If I can win this boy's respect, then I might be able to win Elia's respect, as well._

"Well," he finally said. "Let's go and see what you can do on horseback."

The boy eagerly nodded and was out of the door before Arthur had even risen.

* * *

The day of Elia's official stepping into her new role was getting closer, bringing along more suffocating heat and dazzling sunlight.

During the day, the sky shimmered in heavy rich blue haze; at night, it sparkled with orange and emerald hues cut by the dark silhouette of the towers. Elia couldn't remember this sight from before, as stunning as she found it now. She simply had never noticed it. But the sounds of activity picked up faster at the bracing breeze brought by the sunset were something she had never heard before: the castellan was trying to find the lords and ladies who were expected to arrive lodgings that would hurt no one's pride, the maesters argued with Ciar as to the true form of the ceremony, Alyse Ladybright was trying to balance accounts, so all that could be paid for, and there was a neverending flow of seamstresses, carpenters, smiths, and goldsmiths in the Old Palace. Elia could hardly go out of her private chambers without running into some of them.

Two days before the ceremony, everything looked in order to Elia, albeit the people who fretter over the details they were responsible for begged to differ. Finally, Elia sought refuge in Rhaenys' bedchamber. "If someone comes looking for me, you'll say I am not here," she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Rhaenys looked at her with wide eyes. "You want me to lie?" she whispered back, thrilled by the idea. "Fine," she agreed. "If someone knocks at the door, we aren't here at all. We won't open the door."

Elia smiled, pleased by the fact that her daughter's adjustment was proving easier than she had feared. They spent the evening holding their breath as soon as they heard steps down the hallway and to Rhaenys' enormous delight, Elia hid in the adjacent chamber when Rhaenys' septa came in to check on her young charge.

Finally, Rhaenys was settled in bed; with a kiss on her forehead and a pang for Aegon who should have been put to sleep sometime before, Elia left the bedchamber and headed for her own rooms but Oberyn appeared from a side door and came near. In his hand, he was carrying…

"Yes," he grinned. "It's just what you think."

"Rum from the Summer Isles?" Elia wanted to make sure.

"The very same one," Oberyn confirmed. He looked freshly bathed, his dark hair was still damp.

They started walking side by side. "I didn't know you were back," Elia said. "I was afraid you'd miss the ceremony."

He pretended to be wounded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I would never miss that," he said smoothly. Then, his smile disappeared. They both knew that he would have, gladly.

"The outlaws?"

"What outlaws?" Oberyn asked simply.

Only now did Elia notice that they were not going towards her chambers. She was about to ask where he was taking her when Naeryn appeared out of a side chamber. Like Oberyn, she also carried a bottle of rum.

"What?" Elia asked, immediately alerted. The three of them had gotten drunk more than once in their youth and the hangovers she had suffered could not compare to anything else. "It's getting late!"

"Before it gets any later, we of the Gargalen blood and our dearest friends want to toast you," Oberyn said, very seriously. "We haven't had the chance to see you properly since your return and it isn't likely that we'd get it anytime soon."

Elia was well aware that it wouldn't end with a single toast. _Well, who cares_ , she reasoned. _The worst thing that can happen is that I might head for the ceremony with a splitting headache._ So she let them drag her along to Oberyn's solar. On their way, Oberyn opened the bottle and the three of them started passing it around.

The rum burned Elia's throat like a strong poison. She started coughing, her eyes watered, breath was cut off in her lungs.

It was heavenly.

"Our new lady," Naeryn said. "You'll do a fine job."

"Better than Doran?" Elia asked sadly and immediately wished that she hadn't.

Naeryn took the bottle back and slurped a solid sip.

At their destination, they found most of the people invited already there. All of a sudden, Elia's eyes watered again at seeing so many relatives and friends together. Alynna, beaming – "That's because she managed to squeeze herself into one of the gowns she used to wear before the twins were born, I think," Naeryn whispered – with her husband at another corner of the solar. Her cousins Alor and Blaze Gargalen. Larra and Elvar who had arrived just a few hours ago. Myriah Jordayne. Ryon Allyrion with his Yronwood wife – no, no, she should really stop thinking of Ynys Allyrion in this term. Still, a centuries' old distrust was not an easy thing to overcome, no matter how much effort one put into it. Ilsa Uller – my, this one had grown quite lovely! When very young, she had been pitied for her looks. Alaenys, flirting outrageously around.

"The little one would better stop looking all around with these huge eyes of hers," Oberyn murmured. "From what I've heard of her betrothed, he won't tolerate such behavior."

"No," Elia agreed softly. "He won't." No more than Robert Baratheon had. Even Rhaegar had started giving her the evil eye since the end of the war when she had made it clear that she would never forgive him. He seemed to take every smile she had given another man as a proof of… Elia still didn't know what exactly. Rhaegar had taught her that – that loving someone was not necessary for being jealous. _Maybe I would have been jealous of him, as well, if I wasn't so very disappointed._ She decided to talk to Alaenys as soon as possible.

"Isn't Vaela here?" she asked absent-mindedly.

"She's here," Naeryn said, looking around. "At least, she was at one time. I have to find her. Mother will never forgive me if the babe arrives five months earlier than expected. And that Yronwood of hers was with her…"

"Envious much?" Oberyn joked. "I've heard you've got an Yronwood of your own… ouch!"

Naeryn drew her elbow back and ordered angrily, "Go and find her!"

Oberyn bowed mockingly. "As you wish, my lady. I am at your service, as ever."

Quite surprised, Elia actually saw him head out. Was he truly going to scour the palace for Vaela and the young Yronwood? If he indeed caught them together, he'd likely insist on explaining them in person how exactly moon tea worked.

She moved around the solar, with everyone raising goblets to her. Someone pressed one in her hand and she kept walking, chatting with people and drinking each time they toasted her without much protestation. Soon, her goblet was empty and they took care to give her another one. Pleased, Elia saw that it was not wine, even Dornish red, but that lovely rum again.

"Is that one of your old gowns?" she asked, halting to a stop in front of Alynna. "Oh. T'was not proper."

"But it's so nice to hear!" the other woman grinned. "It is, indeed. I thought I'd never be able to don one of those again. The first time around, the weight went off in just a few weeks but this pair made me think that belly would stay most of me till the end of my life."

Someone was playing the lyre, a mournful song that briefly reminded Elia of Rhaegar's harp – by the Seven, not listening to this constant wailing was one of the perks of leaving his court! Immediately after, though, somewhat to her surprise, she felt the tears coming to her eyes, brought by another memory – her very last gathering with those same people, in her own solar, a few days before her leaving for King's Landing and her royal match. Errol had played this same song – a very untypical choice for someone who had a taste for joyous melodies. But that night, he had chosen the old song of the rage of the sea and the heart's blood. The prolonged sounds of grief undiluted with time animated the faces of everyone who had been here this last time and no longer was. Doran. Loreza. Her cousins. Poor Jaline Uller… Inar Allyrion… Before she knew it, her face was so wet that she could not hide it. No doubt the rum helped either. But she was far from the only one affected. Alynna was weeping openly, albeit silently. Elvar stared right ahead with his teeth clenched and his fine eye as unmoving as his damaged one. Ryon had covered his face with his hands. Even Alaenys who had been too young to attend this last gathering seemed to be affected by the general feeling of grief in the solar. _Is there someone who had not lost a loved one since we were last together_ , Elia wondered sadly.

The tremulous sounds slowly died away. Elia looked up and her head suddenly felt so heavy. No one dared to look at anyone else.

Oberyn crossed to the centre of the room, a new goblet in his hand. "To Doran," he said simply, his voice steady despite the fact that his face was still contorted with grief. "We will not forget him."

He drank and everyone followed. The silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the candles.

"To Mellario," he went on. "Our Essosi rose who managed to thrive in the Dornish desert."

They drank again.

"To Arianne and Quentyn who lost their future before they were old enough to have one."

Her throat closing, Elia toasted the children she hadn't seen grow.

Oberyn paused. "To everyone who should have been here, with us, and isn't," he finally said. "We will not forget you."

This was the hardest toast of all, for Elia still felt irrational guilt for the absence of so many. If only she had been stronger… if only she had given Rhaegar his damned three heads of the dragon… would it have made difference? She believed that he had lunged at the first pretext to chase after Lyanna Stark – but she had given him this pretext, hadn't she? If only, if only, if only…

"And now," Oberyn announced, "we must look toward the future. Let's start now."

The lyre was picked up and though slow, hope for the new beginning and the joy of being reunited started pouring off the strings.

* * *

"If no one has other preferences," Ashara's voice came, loud and clear. "If no one has other preferences, Ryon, would you play my other favourite song, _Fury of the Sun_?"

"Very well," he laughed. "But only if you sing along, my lady."

"Here it is!" she agreed readily. "We'll all sing along, right?"

"Yes, of course!" Oberyn confirmed. Ryon started the refrain and everyone started singing. Some of them – quite off-tune and in a drunken drawl.

Arthur drew further down the hallway and walked away. Tonight, the door leading to Oberyn's chambers was thrown wide open, clearly to make clear that each of their belated friends was welcome. Each but Arthur, that was it. The feeling of loneliness and rejection was stronger than anything he had suffered until now. He knew he deserved it but the Stranger take it, it _hurt_. A few hours ago, Arel had went right by him with no more than a perfunctory greeting and Alynna had actually tugged her skirts closer, as if brushing against Arthur in the narrow hallway would stain the yellow silk. _She's vengeful, Alynna_ , Arthur remembered. Even if Arel was ready to forgive, his wife would always be there to remind him of his wretched brother's many failings.

He raised a hand to his face and felt how hot it was. He knew he could not go to sleep anytime soon, so he settled to find himself a place in the gardens where he would not hear the music and laughter.

He had made it only to the door leading to the inner courtyard when someone collided into him and pushed him away angrily, but quite feebly. "Can you not watch your way?" a raucous voice snapped.

"I could say the same to you," Arthur snapped back; as they passed each other, he startled and looked again, even entering the building back to make sure that he had seen right. The man who was entering the private chambers – or rather, trying to – was Alric Gargalen.

But by the Warrior, it was an Alric Arthur had never seen in his thirty-odd years of life. Feeling Arthur's stare, he turned to him and the younger man's surprise turned into horror. The torches in their sconces lit tired and hopeless eyes, like those of a hunted beast that could find no shelter. Alric wore a grey silken robe and the expensive material somewhat masked the disarray about the rest of him. His hair was disheveled, his face completely yellow. The vacant eyes made it even more colourless and ghostlike save for the bloody grooves on his cheeks, a face from an old portrait bleached by dust, humidity, and the passage of time, a portrait that might crumble to pieces any moment now out of the ruin of its fabric. He seemed to be unable to walk properly – every movement seemed to cost him a great effort, he was staggering and holding to the walls as if he feared that he'd fall down. Arthur expected to see his knees buckle any moment.

"What?" Alric spat again, in this strange hoarse voice. And it was now, by watching and listening to him, that Arthur realized the older man was drunk, dead to the world. He was clearly returning from some lowly inn, for the stench around him was that of a ban wine and even worse rum. And everything that he had taken was starting to paralyze him, prevent him from going down the entire length of the hallway, climbing the stairs and actually returning to his chambers. _He would have fallen right here and stayed like this_ , Arthur realized. He has no way to regain control. _The wine and rum are barely starting their effect._

"Come on," he said and took Alric's arm, leading him down the hall. "I think you'll feel better when you reach your chambers. Just try not to vomit."

"I won't," Alric said. "It was just some bad wine in a bad inn."

_More like ten bad inns_ , _all with bad wine and rum_ , Arthur thought. Now Alric was walking slowly, calmly, leaning against Arthur's arm, his previous anger lost. It was astonishing, this self-command that made him pretend that nothing of what was happening concerned him and he was in full control of his faculties, as if he meant to say, "I happened to get drunk… just like that… because I had a fancy…", as if there was no other reason running more deeply.

When they reached the bedchamber, Arthur spat a startled curse. In the flash of a moment, he realized where the grooves of parched blood on Alric's face originated from. It had not been a drunken brawl as Arthur had first thought.

There was something ugly and heartrending in the objects thrown haphazardly all around the room, the upturned chairs, the broken mirror, the torn curtains. The candles were burning, though, and in their light the scratches on Alric's face stood out even more sharply.

"Why haven't your servants…" Arthur started and paused, helping him to lie down.

Alric's lips curved into a disgusting parody of a smile. "They think it's the Targaryen madness," he murmured. "Too scared."

"They think…" Arthur started and fell silent because Alric had already closed his eyes.

He stayed for a while, wondering whether Elia's father was asleep until a soft crack turned his head towards the door.

His brother entered the room without hesitation, a terrified servant cowering behind him. Arthur thought that Arel didn't look surprised. Instead, he turned around and gave the servant a level look. "Since when has he been in this state?"

"I heard him breaking things as early as the afternoon," the old man said readily. "Then, he went to sleep, rose and left. I came to collect you as soon as I saw him coming back…"

"Went to sleep, did he," Arel said absent-mindedly. Arthur shared his doubt – whatever Alric's fit, he had likely collapsed, exhausted, not gone to sleep the usual way. Arel reached into his pocket and handed the man a coin. "If no one gets to know that my lord has had a fit, it'll be good to you. Early in the morning, come here and put the room in order. I'll take care of him now."

Visibly relieved, the man scurried outside, lest the lord changed his intentions. Arel stared at his foster father and then started walking around the room and peeping here and there.

"What happened?" Arthur finally asked. "What is all that?"

Arel who had been kneeling in front of a pile of books rose and gave him a long look. "Can't you guess?"

"Since when has he been like this? I never noticed a thing."

"You couldn't possibly see. His fits of hard drinking come three or four times a year, for five years now. The rest of the time, he's completely normal and never gets carried away with his cups. But when it's one of those three or four times…"

He fell silent and resumed scouring through the debris.

"What are you looking for?"

Instead of answering, Arel moved to a side table and Arthur followed. His brother knelt in front of a darker spot near a fallen goblet and nodded, as if he had resolved a mystery. Taking the goblet, he rose, sniffed it, and nodded once again.

"What did it contain?" Arthur asked. It was surreal, having this conversation with Arel who avoided him, in the havoc of the chamber Alric himself had ruined in some fit…

"Viper wine," Arel said.

Arthur drew back, as if the words themselves were vipers that could bite him. He had heard of viper wine, of course, which Dornishman hadn't? But it was mainly in the realm of rumours. Even among the maesters, there were few of those who dared prepare the pain killer. From offhanded comments, he had heard the suggestion that Alric and Oberyn had mastered the dangerous art but he had never considered that they might use it for themselves. _A lapse in judgment. I knew they were overconfident enough to try it._

"Why doesn't he use the milk of poppy instead?"

"Because it's addictive."

Arthur barked a laugh. "Sorry," he apologized as he saw Arel's look. "It somehow amuses me. He's afraid that he might get addicted, so he uses a drink instead that, with a simple miscalculation of the dose, might kill him?" He paused, reconsidering. "It isn't funny at all."

"Not in the least," Arel agreed dryly. "It seems that after getting drunk this last time, he accidentally spilled the goblet with the viper wine and his chances of sweet oblivion soaked into the carpet. You can see what happened next."

Now he went to the bed to have a look at Alric, dipped a cloth in a basin of cold water, and started bathing Alric's face and hands. It looked to Arthur that even in this heavy sleep caused by the alcohol, Alric's features were not so terribly stretched now. Arthur's imagination vividly drew the terrible scene that had taken place here a few hours ago.

"Elia doesn't know," he finally said.

"Of course she doesn't," Arel said, vexed, and returned to cleaning a particularly nasty-looking groove on Alric's cheek. "Why should we tell her? She'll get to know soon enough. It isn't easy even for Oberyn and I think we both know which one is more tender-hearted." He sighed. "I'll have to tell him, though. He'll have to make the viper wine since Alric is in no state to do it himself."

Arthur was about to ask about the proportions of the drink before realizing that he didn't truly want to know. He felt that Arel would mention a dose of poison that would be likely to kill two robust young men but was normal for Alric. Five years. Immediately after the end of the rebellion. It looked like Alric had cracked under the weight of his losses and the immense pressure that had been his constant companion since before he could walk. And yet Arthur thought not of his collapse but of their clash at the door, that hellish loftiness of Alric's, the pride that nothing could break that made him look so defiant. Elia had this pride, too. Arthur remembered the day they had finally returned to King's Landing and the haughty, contemptuous grace Elia had somehow managed to make visible under her impeccable manners, despite the fact that she had yet to venture out of her chambers after the damages she had sustained in the fire and the thousands of eyes ready to pounce on her weakness and humiliation. _People always said that she was like her mother. I wonder whether someone ever saw just how much she takes after her father._ Arthur only prayed that she'd never find herself fighting demons like the ones Alric kept at bay with sheer will assisted from time to time by alcohol and a dangerous potion.

"Go to sleep," Arel said. "I can take care of him by myself. And then I have to send for Oberyn."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked.

"Yes."

More than a little grateful, Arthur wearily dragged himself to his bedchamber, undressed, blew the candle off, and slid under the covers. And then he almost screamed when his foot touched something soft.

"Be quiet," Elia said, reproachfully, and the hoarseness of her voice immediately brought the thought of her father back to Arthur's mind.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you."

"You came…" he echoed, "… to find me."

"Yes," Elia confirmed, pleased to be understood. "Too tired to hunt for someone else. Didn't want to, either."

She slurred the words in a way that made his next question useless but he asked it anyway.

"Are you drunk?"

"Only half-drunk," she replied. "That's why I came to you. I thought we could get the task done. I even brought the bottles."

Bottles. More than one? Arthur didn't want to light a candle since that would probably hurt her eyes, but started feeling around the bed and damn him if he didn't found two bottles on the coffer at the bedside. His bedside. Elia might be drunk but she remembered who should open them.

"Listen," he said, uncomfortable all of a sudden. "It isn't that I don't want you here but I don't think you truly realize…"

Elia laughed huskily, found his hand in the darkness and squeezed. "I told you, I am only half-drunk. I am completely aware of what I am doing and who I am doing it with. It isn't about _love_ or anything." She said the word as if she were saying, _a rampant dragon_. "I like you, you like me, you're saving me time to seek a bedmate. We can make each other's nights more interesting."

He had had some idea of just how she was when she was drunk. But this brazenness? This bitterness? Drunk or not, she couldn't let go of her hurt entirely. Her distrust. Her determination to cleanse herself of her life with the man who had shamed and betrayed her.

But she still liked him. She had said so. He had hoped but before, he hadn't known for sure. She had guarded her secret with jealousy that only grew with his desperation to know. No matter her reasons, she wanted to be with him, for the nights, at least.

"And I have not forgiven you," she finished. "Just for you to know. Don't think that I have."

"Right now, I don't care about forgiveness," Arthur replied huskily and drew her near.

 


	17. Interpretations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, you're keeping this story alive.

Arthur woke up three times and each one, it was still dark, almost the last time, something told him that dawn would soon come. He reached out and touched Elia's arm and shoulder, leaned over to follow the outline of her jaw to make sure that it was true, that she was here, next to him. She slept curled on her side, with her hands between her thighs, as if she were cold, and Arthur thought that it must be a habit she had developed after Rhaegar stopped visiting her bed. Even unwanted by her king and replaced with a younger woman, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms could not take a lover without casting doubts over her children's paternity, so she had spent all those years alone and freezing. Arthur has spent enough nights guarding her door to know so, yet even now, a small voice of contentment whispered to him that it had been good and right. What had all those people who had written about love known of love at all? Love was supposed to make one better. It did not act this way with Arthur at all – it only served to make him insincere, dishonest, and unhappy. And even now, when it had given him this moment of bliss, it did not make him a better man. Come to think of it, he didn't know anyone who had become better with love, except for Rhaegar's second queen, maybe. _No, love did not change her for the better_ , Arthur remembered, _it was the bitterness of disappointment that did._ He shivered. Thinking of Lyanna Stark in this bedchamber, with Elia sleeping beside him was foul. He preferred to focus on his dream that had finally come to pass, and he went to sleep with his hand on Elia's hip.

When he woke up next time, the pale light of dawn threw rosy spots all over the bedchamber. Very few people in the palace closed their shutters for the night and Arthur breathed the last remnants of coolness before he looked up. Elia turned his head to look back at him and smiled faintly. Arthur saw that she was very white and gaunt – a combination of a severe hangover and the consequences of their sleepless night. He felt as exhausted as he did after an entire day of practice. "I thought it was a dream," he murmured.

Elia smiled once again. "It is."

She was gathering the various parts of her attire and clearly having trouble remembering where she had discarded them. Arthur's smile flickered and died when, at seeing her robe, she knelt – this way, she could keep her balance more easily than if she simply crouched or leaned – and then rose.

The growing light caught something dark and glistening, like a girdle of granites, or scales of a snake, right below her breasts and over the upper part of her belly. Elia followed his look and dark stain of shame bloomed upon her cheeks in the very moment Arthur realized that the material he was seeing was, in fact, a part of Elia's own skin, a thick corn-like thread of flesh that had marked her forever with the seal of fire. He had seen the scars on her arms and hands but somehow, he had never thought that those on her body would be worse. Now, though, he remembered how the servants had found her, pressed under a burning board that she had pushed with her bare hands away from Aegon's bed. She had spent her first months as queen bedridden most of time.

It was clear to him that Elia had lived with her scarring for so long that she no longer thought about it. With Rhaegar keeping away from her bed, who would see it? But now, mortification made her look down before a defiant sparkle danced in her eyes. She slipped the shift on without trying to hide herself from Arthur's view. On the contrary, she stretched, playing the role of seductress parading with her smooth body. Then, she ran her hands through her wild hair, as if that was the greatest problem with her looks.

"Now, you're even more beautiful," Arthur finally spoke, his words coming from a place of sincerity and shame. He saw her scarring like a battle scar, a badge of honour, and he was ashamed that he hadn't been there, that he had left her to meet this fight alone. _Couldn't you spare them one_ , Rhaegar, he thought angrily. _There were three of us in that blasted Tower and three with you at the Trident, with Jaime attached to the King. Couldn't you spare just one for them? A Kingsguard should have been the one to save your heir from the flames, not his mother_.

Elia stared at him. Her usually kind eyes were now viperish, probing, drilling a hole in his head to check the sincerity of his word. At the end, she smiled and closed the distance between them to place his hand over the scales.

"Now, you're truly a Martell viper," he breathed and felt rewarded when she laughed in reply.

* * *

"What?"

Elia's chair fell behind her when she rose abruptly. Her face was white as bone, her fists clenched and no less pale. She grabbed the parchment from her father's hand and skimmed over it, as if she hoped that Alric had suddenly lost his ability to read and the note was saying the exact opposite of what it, in fact, said.

"When did that arrive?" she asked in such controlled a voice that Alric might have thought he had only imagined her outburst from before even as he was going to lift her chair back up.

"Just when I was coming back from the morning ride," Alric replied.

Elia's eyes narrowed. She gave her father a suspicious look and wondered how he had ended up with the streaks on his face. But she knew better than to ask. He would tell her that it was no concern of hers. Still, she inquired, "A night brigand?"

"A deplorable wretch," Alric replied shortly.

Elia started pacing the solar, kicking the rugs. "I can't believe he'd do that to Aegon," she exclaimed. "I have always believed he loved the children. I thought that while he did not love me, he loved them."

Alric held a different opinion of the matter but chose to keep silent. A young handmaiden came with a tray of blood oranges and was quick to leave. Alric thought that she might have overheard Elia's raised voice.

The morning sun made his daughter's skin gold. Alric resisted the urge to squint, he felt as if he was facing a sandstorm with bare face and eyes. Even the ride had not helped with the headache but he wasn't surprised. He had really pushed his limits. _I have reached a new low_ , he thought before his thoughts once again led him to their damned King's last decision. Was Rhaegar doing it just to spite Elia? To make her new beginning harder? Alric wouldn't put it past him.

"It's an honour," he said. "What more could you hope for? He made a clear statement that your son is the heir, not the Northern woman's whelp. In truth, he should have done it long ago."

Elia glared at him but there were tears in her eyes. "Yes," she agreed, with a bitter laugh. "Right. Because shipping a child Aegon's age alone for Dragonstone is just what a loving father would do."

Alric sighed. "Aegon was invested as Prince of Dragonstone," he corrected. "Immediately after the dissolving of the marriage. I think that's a good pledge for Rhaegar's intentions. And Aegon won't be alone there."

Once again, Elia clenched her fists. "It can be just a tactic to remove him from court, thus preventing people from knowing him," she spat. "They might be trying to isolate him. And even if their intentions are good, he's still so young. He's just lost me and Rhaenys; how can anyone think that sending him to that distant island would do him any good?"

Of course, Alric had already asked himself these questions. But he could hardly admit that to her. Right now, his priority was soothing her fears – with made up excuses for Rhaegar if he must.

"We did not marry you to a landed knight," he said sharply. "We married you to the future King. We did not sacrifice you to the whine of his harp and his brooding moods in a spur of the moment decision. That was the reason I deprived myself of the pleasure of gutting him when he took after his ill-fated Northern fool and had the audacity to bring her here. Your marriage didn't work out – well, that's too unfortunate. But we can still salvage something of the initial purpose. And for the moment, he is working towards this purpose as well, so you can stop indulging yourself in keening like a peasant mother. Your son isn't being disinherited, isn't going to war, and has his position strengthened. That's what you should focus upon. Actually, I think that being away from the she-wolf and that father of his might prove a good thing. I was younger than him when I was shipped off to Dorne – and I am non worse for the wear. In fact, I suggest that you talk to your grandmother about this. I am sure she can find the words to comfort you. But as far as I am concerned, you aren't doing yourself a favour by bringing emotions into something that works to Aegon's advantage."

Elia stopped her pacing and looked out the window. The palace garden stretched ahead of her and she stared at a single tree, a little removed from the rest. Her father had rarely spoken to her this sharply, as if he were scolding a slow student, and Elia felt hurt by his lack of empathy. All of a sudden, she realized why they called him heartless, as cold-blooded as a snake…

Alric came behind her and placed his hand over her shoulders. "Elia," he said softly. "I am not saying this to hurt you. But when you chose to shoulder the responsibility for Dorne, you knew there were certain sacrifices to be made and certain privileges to give up. Stop tormenting yourself over something that you have no control over, or you'll destroy yourself."

Elia laughed angrily. "Is such a thing possible at all?" she asked. "Have you stopped tormenting yourself over what you did about Loreza – something I am sure you didn't have control over either?"

Alric paled, closed his eyes, shook his head. "No."

"Then? How am I supposed to turn my back at Aegon?"

Alric took his hands away, scared that he might shake her uncontrollably. "I don't want you to turn your back at anyone," he spat but seeing that there was no way to alleviate her fears, he turned around and left before he did or said something he'd regret.

* * *

Arthur had made it a point to test every day one of his new squire's basic skills. For now, he had seen that the boy had some good basics in swordsmanship – really, nothing to wonder at since his grandfather Mikkel had been one of Dorne's finest swords in his prime, - was dealing fine with a spear and was a complete disaster with a morningstar. Arthur supposed it had something to do with his slender frame and fine hands. Sure, hard work could make then calloused. But bigger, with wider wrists? Impossible.

Today, it was time to see Laval's riding skills. For the purpose, he had chosen a yard meant for walking the animals. Then, they would go to the training yard. While in the beginning, he had been the recipient of more than one hostile look, the other knights and men-at-arms had become used to his presence. No doubt the fact that he was tutoring no other than Lord Alric's own grandson was part of the reason.

Walking in the yard towards Laval, Arthur realized why he had woken up so many times the night before. It had been raining – a rare thing in Dorne. As he waded down the mud, his face broke in a smile. Laval had already taken his horse out and was now stroking and talking to him as if he had a playmate before him. The chestnut beast whinnied softly and pushed his head against Laval's pocket in search of a threat.

"Is this what you're looking for?" the boy asked and smiling slyly, gave the animal an apple. "What! One would think I'm starving you. And you have no manners at all," he added when pieces of the apple and drops of horse spittle started flying all around. Arthur was fast to step aside before one of the pieces hit him straight on the forehead. "I am sorry, Ser," the boy apologized.

It was good to see that Laval treated his animal properly. Arthur shrugged, showing that all was well. "Show me what you can do," he said.

The boy blinked. "Ser?"

"I want to see how far your abilities go," Arthur explained and his squire whispered something to the horse that was still munching his apple happily.

The yard actually looked more like a broken ground – people had already walked their animals in the mud. Arthur watched the swift fly that landed Laval right atop his horse, the easiness the boy made himself comfortable despite the lack of a saddle, the upright posture that showed no inclination to lean against the neck of the animal and felt that he had finally seen the boy's greatest talent.

* * *

Out of all candles burning in the yellow bedchamber, only three had remained, throwing small flickering spots over the tapestries, the carpet, the empty bed. Elia sat in a big chair, clad in a dark silk robe, leaning her forehead against her palm. Her long dark hair fell over the back of the chair like a sunless river.

Arthur hesitated at the threshold, suddenly unsure that he'd be welcome. For some reason, he thought that he might have imagined the last night, as if he had been the drunken – or half-drunken – one and not Elia. But as he was fighting his conflicting emotions, Elia looked up and smiled, faintly but prettily. Silently, she beckoned him in.

It was only after they had closed the door that she threw herself in his arms, burying her face in his neck. "I didn't realize it was so late," she murmured. "I would have come."

"Well, I did," he murmured back, feeling ridiculously relieved that last night had not been a figment of his imagination, after all.

Elia was trembling and he pushed her an arm's length away so he could look at her face. "What's wrong?" he asked. The last ten years of being so close to her had made him quite attuned to all things Elia-related. He could now see that she wasn't cold and she didn't run fever. She was simply upset.

"Rhaegar has invested Aegon as Prince of Dragonstone and is sending him there," Elia said, biting her lip. "All on his own… so soon after I left… And the worst thing is, I am not entirely sure he's doing it for Aegon's benefit. If he only wants to remove him from court?... Could it be the first step in…"

Arthur was quick to interrupt her. "No," he said, trying to soothe her anxiety. "Maybe the timing is unfortunate, indeed, but I can assure you, sending Aegon to Dragonstone means nothing about the boy's succession. He wants Aegon to be his heir. In fact, he intended to send…" And he paused, cursing his quick tongue.

"Yes?" Elia's voice was quite normal, she still hadn't spotted his lapsus. For a moment, Arthur hoped that it would stay unnoticed but then her face hardened. "Who did he intend to send? Where?"

The former Kingsguard was silent, hoping that she might find it out by herself. He didn't want to say the words. But Elia was still staring at him uncomprehending.

Arthur looked at the carpet on the floor, on the nearest tapestry with its golden thread as if he hoped to find help somewhere there. But they were silent. Elia was still looking at him inquiringly.

Arthur swallowed thickly and accepted the inevitable. "He was going to send you and the children to Dragonstone," he said quickly. "Move you there. They figured it would be uncomfortable…"

Words failed him.

Elia's face was smooth and perfectly impassive. The candles now painted peculiar forms on her temples. "Of course," she said. "It would be uncomfortable to keep his two families under the same roof, no matter how big the roof is. And of course, it would be my children and I who had to go so he could stay there – with her."

The wretched expression on Arthur's face said it all. She looked away.

Damn the indifference she thought she had started to feel towards Rhaegar! Damn her pity for the blasted selfish child who had not hesitated to throw herself in Rhaegar's bed while Elia had still been fighting the Stranger! Damn Arthur's hated obedience to his duty! There were insults that indeed nothing could atone for.

"I see. That was very… wise of them. And why did he change his mind?"

She could have saved herself the trouble of asking, the answer was so evident. Arthur reached for her hands but she drew back.

"Elia," he said. "I didn't know when I went with them."

She gave him a look that could freeze Hellholt. "But even after you learned their plans, you still chose to stay. I understand… Now go away, I am tired."

 


	18. A Harsh Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thanks to anyone who commented, you keep me inspired.

Elia's eyes wandered around the study before she started pacing. It was cool, as cool as it could be in Dorne, with windcatchers making breathing easier, heavy beige curtains containing the sun to not so glaring sunlight, and water whispering in a small fountain in a corner. She could appreciate it even more after her visit at the quarters with more than half of the houses burned down to scorch the plague away. The scent of despair had been so tangible that it still clung to her like a film she could not scrub away, the scar on her torso that would never disappear. All those people looking at her in bleak mute appeal. Craftsmen and tradesmen who had lost their goods and trades and stood silent, their arms hanging limply against their sides. Old women feebly caring about their orphaned grandchildren… Five months had trailed since the last victim had been buried but to those people, time seemed to have frozen.

A pair of violet eyes followed her movements. She felt them like a steady calming presence, unostentatious but unyielding support. She was grateful to Lord Dayne that he would stay with her for this. Technically, it was no concern of his. Sunspear was the stronghold of House Martell and they were the ones who should support its people. Elia could not and would not present this to a council with all her bannermen included – but it was reassuring to know that someone who had gone almost through the same thing was here. Maybe Arel Dayne would notice some details that she could not see.

The man was announced in the time she had appointed. He was ushered in with all due ceremony, the servant bringing him in seasoned by too many years of serving in this part of the Old Palace. But Elia thought she had detected a faint trace of curiosity that she could not fault Caril for. The man's Stormlands' origin was evident, although Elia could not quite put her finger into the reason. Men of Stormlands varied in their looks as storms varied in their gathering and deadliness. Maybe it was his weather-beaten face, or his stance, staying with his feet firmly planted at the width of his shoulders. As if he expected a storm – or had just conquered one.

She stepped out from the shade of the fountain and he gave a clumsy bow. "M'lady," he said.

"Master Sidor," Elia replied. "Welcome. Please take a seat."

He took the chair she pointed him to without showing any surprise, despite certainly having met many lords and ladies of lesser rank than Elia's who would keep him standing as if he were a servant. _Stannis Baratheon must truly let people of this standing sit in his presence_ , Elia thought. She had heard about the Lord of Storm's End peculiarities, including the one that was named the Onion Knight. She was pleased for Alaenys, for a girl who had grown up with children of cooks, washerwomen, and masons at the Water Garden would have a trouble with a husband who deemed smallfolk so vastly inferior.

"This is Lord Dayne," Elia said, noticing the man's passing look at Arel. "He's a valued bannerman of mine."

Arel nodded politely.

"Would you care for some refreshment?" she asked and indicated the fruit and balls of almond paste a servant maid had laid out a little earlier.

Master Sidor gratefully accepted and bit at an almond ball with the gist of someone who was starving. There was a slight caution, though. He was clearly on the watch for too many spices. Elia smiled a little.

"You've made a good time of it," she said. "I trust your voyage was a peaceful one?"

"Not a single storm, m'lady," he assured her. "And Lord Baratheon made it clear that I should make haste."

It was good to hear that. Elia had hoped that Stannis Baratheon would prove as true ally as she needed. The start was promising indeed. She had done meticulous research to choose the builder she would entrust the rebuilding of the destroyed quarter to. It would have been a pity indeed if his being of the Stormlands had posed an obstacle.

"I am very grateful to your lord for his help," she said. "When are you going to be ready to start?"

"Now, m'lady."

Elia and Arel exchanged a look of surprise when the man actually took his bag from the carpet, took some rolls of parchment out and spread them on a table, as if he was indeed ready to start .

"I thought you'd need… to have a look at the part of the city I was talking about…" Elia said.

"I already had," the Stormlander answered readily. "Before coming here."

_A man who likes to keep it short and effective_ , Elia and Arel both thought as they approached the sturdy oak table.

"It was a shame, what happened to all those people," Sidor murmured and went to the matter at hand. "With what I know about Dornish climate, I would say that stone would be just wasting of means. Mud would serve just as fine or even better, sun-dried bricks. You people aren't stupid, using what is best suited to you and not wasting efforts."

Once again, Elia and Arel looked at each other and then quickly away to stifle their laughter. The man was addressing them like a benign grandfather, his enthusiasm of his work clearly overcoming propriety. Good!

"I'd start with building the quarter not the way it used to be," Master Sidor went on. "Not quite… I'd be grateful if I can have some of the old plans, by the way… But I'd made some changes, m'lady. I'd wager that some of the streets sported houses that leaned against each other so close from the opposite sides that they blocked the sun. It isn't safe."

He went on explaining the way he wanted to change the map of Sunspear. Elia listened, from time to time giving a brief thought to how that would fly with her treasurer. Alyse Ladybright had brought up the matter of the shelter given to the people from the houses they had set to fire and the cost of their upkeep. _Well, she'll have to find the means from somewhere_ , Elia told herself. Even if she had to economize on everything in her daily life, she owned her people support and care. Especially in the wake of a disaster comparable only to the Great Spring Sickness that her grandmother had survived as a child.

* * *

Sometimes at night, the air became so cool that Elia needed to throw a light cover over her shoulders before going to the roof to stare at the stars or just walk in the gardens and try to forget the daily cares. This was one of those nights. She wrapped a shawl fashioned in yellow fabric and left. A pair of eyes followed her from the staircase at the end of the hallway her bedchamber was in and the man followed suit, leaving some distance, as not to disturb her. Elia didn't care. But she didn't call him either. It would be some long time indeed before she let Arthur close or even speak to him. Almost every day, she got news concerning Aegon's forthcoming departure for Dragonstone and they pained her anew with the sting of helplessness, fury, protectiveness… and offense. She could not believe that she could still feel insulted by Rhaegar's onetime decision to remove her from the capitol but she was.

In Rhaenys' chamber, there was still some light. The girl had fallen asleep in bed, a thick tome opened on her chest. Elia smiled a little. Her daughter's reading habits were all Rhaegar but Rhaenys liked the company of other children as well. She leaned over to collect a piece of attire from the carpet and smiled again at seeing that it was a jerkin. A boy's jerkin.

Rhaenys had clearly been spending time with Laval again. To Elia's perfunctory disapproval and Alric's undisguised amusement, she had announced that riding like a lady was clearly unfair since it limited speed, so she wanted to know how boys did it. Laval had enthusiastically undertaken the task to show her. Alas, he had clearly neglected the washing-after part, as Elia found out when she brushed her lips against her daughter's forehead. Once Rhaenys had managed to stay on horseback the way men did it – two days and five falls in the process, – all ladylike notions had ended where riding was concerned.

Lately, Elia had started finding sleep increasingly elusive and harder to come. She supposed it was just because of the anxiety over her recent investment and the first Council Session – the annual assembly of all her bannermen where they discussed things that mattered greatly – or not so greatly – to Dorne's wellbeing. Tonight, even a long stroll in the gardens didn't help her insomnia. Her ache for Aegon. Her desperate sympathy for her people's plea. Instead, her fears rose and she hardly realized where she was going until she suddenly found herself in a chamber she hadn't seen in eight years, yet remembered as clearly as if it had been only yesterday when she had spent hours here in laughter, chatting, and shared confidences. A chamber she had avoided most painstakingly since her return. The moonlight coming through the slit between the shutters silhouetted the small alcove hiding the bed, the fluffy carpet on the floor, a cradle in the corner, the silver hairbrush on the dressing-table, and the high-backed chairs… Had she come here to seek alleviation to her restlessness from someone long gone? Elia gasped and stepped back when another silhouette stirred between the shadows. A living one. A woman.

Arthur made a swift step, as if he wanted to enter the room, but then reconsidered as the woman opened the shutters and the room filled with ghostly light.

"Lady Loreza died here," she said in a soft, subdued voice as surreal as the silver radiance flickering between them. "Oberyn found her next to the cradle. Since that day, nothing had been removed. Laval comes here sometimes, as do the servant maids to clean… but no one else."

_And you_ , Elia thought as she took in the dark hair, the sensual curve of the mouth, and the shade of an old grief in those black eyes. All of a sudden, she connected the dots, the memories she had of her time here and what she knew now. "You're Ellaria," she said. "Oberyn's lady. And you used to be Loreza's friend. I remember seeing you with her often."

The other woman nodded. "That I was," she said. "And at the end, I failed her. But I didn't know…"

Her voice caught. But Elia had understood. Indeed, how could have anyone known? Her half-sister had been a cheerful, vibrant creature who had loved life. How could have anyone supposed that she'd take her own away, no matter how provoked? Her eyes went to a dark stain in the carpet, near the cradle. Was it blood? She shivered and tried not to look at it. "When did you arrive?" she asked.

Ellaria smiled. "Oberyn came to the Water Gardens this morning," she said. "And since he isn't going to have the time to cross between here and there often, we decided we'd better accompany him here – the children and I. And Lady Nym, of course. She was getting restless there anyway. Too calm for her, she says."

Her voice was sweet, her eyes affectionate. Everything about her inspired calm trust, just as it had many years ago. Maybe that was why Elia had never made the connection between Loreza's friend and Oberyn's paramour. Ellaria was the last person she would imagine keeping Oberyn's heart for years. He had never tired of mocking her and Loreza for being too gracious. _Maybe being gracious is a trait he finds endearing in a beloved mistress when he wouldn't in his sisters_ , she thought.

"Do you come here often?" she asked.

"I come a few times a year."

Just like Loreza would have liked. Nothing too evident, just a private visit. It fitted the person she had been in life. In some ways, she and Doran had been even more similar than he and Elia had been. Elia swallowed painfully.

"I have to go," Ellaria said. "Oberyn will come to our chamber soon if he hasn't already. I am sorry I startled you, my lady."

Elia smiled a little, although shakily. "I think we both startled each other. Well, I suppose we'll be seeing more of each other now."

Ellaria smiled back. "I'd say so."

She headed for the door where she turned and briefly hesitated. "I'd appreciate it if you don't mention to him about this encounter," she said. "He… he doesn't like it when I come here."

"I won't," Elia promised. The truth was, Loreza was a topic that Oberyn would flatly refuse to discuss and pretend not to hear when she tried to. Just like their father did. She wondered how Doran had felt. After all, he had been the one making the verdict that had driven Loreza to such despair.

Yes, the walls of the palace of her memories and dreams now whispered of horrors and hurts, and the Stranger's steps as much as the Red Keep did. Elia listened at the echo of the other woman's retreating steps and imagined her throwing herself in Oberyn's arms to be soothed and loved. She had never been treated like this. Even with Arthur… For that night of madness, she had let herself believe that it could work but the very next night had sobered her, bringing her back to the loneliness of heart that she had lived with for nigh than nine years. She loved Arthur but she could never trust him. And without trust, there could be nothing between them.

Once again, her eyes found the dark stain on the carpet. She knelt down to inspect it. She had been right. It was blood, bleached and parched, and darkened to black.

* * *

"No way," Alyse Ladybright stated flatly. Her shrewd brown eyes were ready to cut the builder into pieces for daring to propose that they actually built a stone building here and there to better resist the fires that were not so rare in Sunspear.

_Yes, way_ , Elia almost said, although, of course, such an input would befit Rhaenys and not her. Her treasurer and Master Sidor had taken most genuine dislike to each other from the moment he had presented his calculations. They bickered like market sellers, each trying to best the other. Elia tried to listen to both of their arguments but they always came to the point when words would start flying so fast and sound so elaborated and professional that she was lost. She did her best not to show it, though. If things kept going this way, the survivors of the plague would stay homeless for a very long time indeed!

She opened her mouth to smooth the things over when she felt faint and slumped over the table. The next thing she knew, she was in her bed, surrounded by servants, and Alynna was squeezing her wrist to make sure that she had pulse.

"Maester Caleotte will be here any minute now," she said when she saw that Elia was awake.

"No!"Elia said sharply and tried to rise.

"Elia," Alynna said patiently. "You fainted. You should be examined…"

Elia's eyes went over all the faces in her shelter, her very own bedchamber. "Everyone, leave," she ordered. "And no maesters. I am fine."

"You've lost too much weight," her cousin said as the others left. "I knew it. It's no wonder you collapsed. But just to be on the safe side…"

Elia still felt dizzy but reality could no longer be denied. "Alynna, I think I am with child."

"Oh no!" Alynna's hand rose to her face, as if trying to protect it from a strike. "It can't be. You have no husband," she said stupidly.

"I think I am. My flux has been late for almost three weeks."

"Your _what_?" Alynna's voice rose but she immediately got a grip over herself. "I thought you no longer had those! For the Mother's sake, wasn't this the whole reason Rhaegar sought the Northern chit out, because you no longer had a womb to speak of?"

"They came back two years ago… I kept it in secret…"

The thought of Rhaegar getting to know that she might not be barren had been unconceivable. She could not have accepted him in her bed ever again. She couldn't. And she sure as hell would not have given him the daughter of his dreams… or a son who would have been behind Lyanna's son in the succession!

"What are we going to do?"

"Go and fetch Naeryn, please… She'll think of something."

At first, their cousin only gave her a blank look, as if she couldn't process what she had just heard. But then, she sprang to action that, for Elia and Alynna's mental paralysis, was a great relief.

"Maester Caleotte should examine you and confirm that you're with child. This way, we'll know for sure how to act. And now, get up, don't just lie in this bed. What are you trying to do, be on bedrest? Why didn't you tell me the moment your flux didn't come? Never mind tha nowt… Fall from this bed. Now!"

Elia shook her head. "I am still too faint… I don't think I can…"

"Faint, are you? Do you think the next seven months will be the time you'll feel utterly strong? Fall down, I said."

"Naeryn!" Alynna exclaimed, stunned by her cousin's vehemence.

"Don't Naeryn me! Come over and help instead!"

She grabbed Elia's hand and started pulling her down. Elia fought but feebly and anyway, Naeryn's sole hand was so strong that the rest of them were always caught unprepared. Alynna wouldn't be too surprised if Naeryn turned out to have more strength in this hand than most knights had in their sword hand. To her, it had been a matter of survival. Mere breaths after, Elia fell down on the carpet with a soft thump. Naeryn stepped back.

"Now, go back there and do it again. And then again. We might be lucky. Sometimes, these babes just fall out before they become babes if the collision is hard enough…"

But for all her determination, she did not drag Elia back to the floor. Instead, she started biting her lips and muttering to herself.

"By the Mother, Naeryn! You haven't even been with child, ever! How is it that you know what to do?" Alynna asked, a little scared.

"Because I am neither a lady who's expected to kill to give her husband's heirs nor a fool, that's why! I wouldn't spread my legs apart if I didn't know how those things were done. Have the two of you _never_ heard of moon tea?"

"I _did_ drink it," Elia started explaining and then moaned, remembering with horror what else had happened. "I was so hungover that I threw up almost immediately after taking the tea."

Now, she remembered that she had intended to have another goblet, just in case, but then the news of Aegon had come, pushing everything else aside.

Her cousins took her silence for what it was. As Elia frantically tried to calculate the length of her new fluxes, Alynna rose and sent for Maester Caleotte, after all.

 


	19. The Weight of a Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you make me more willing to write.

Maester Caleotte confirmed that Elia was indeed with child, at which the three women looked at each other with horror. Deep inside, they had all hoped it was just an unfounded fear of Elia's.

"Take care to keep yourself rested, my Princess," the old man warned. "And if you have some ideas about… remedying the situation, think twice. Childbirth is always dangerous and with the toll your previous childbeds took from you, I wouldn't advise anything rash. There is a reason why we recommend moon tea and not doing something after the fact."

"There are some herbs," Naeryn interjected.

"There are," the maester agreed, giving her his usual look. Even now, he could not help but suppress the burning desire to examine her, try and determine what made her the way she was. He knew that sometimes, the same herbs she was talking about failed in expelling the babe but left it with injuries before birth. Still, Lady Aelinor had claimed that she had done nothing to rid herself of the plant that Maelys Blackfyre might have sown in her. And anyway, the very look of Lady Naeryn's deformed limb made it clear that she had been supposed to be this way, that the deformity had been there since before her mother knew about her. It was too clean-looking, too lacking the look of a real injury. How had the damage occurred? What had happened under this perfect skin while it has been still forming? In his life, Maester Caleotte had seen only one other person with a similar defect. And he had cut the dead body of a peasant child whose family had been too scared at the sight of what had been birthed to let him live. Nothing about this babe had given him answers but gods be good, even his smallest knife had almost proved too big for this tender tiny being! "But they hold some danger even for a woman who has carried and delivered easily. The Princess is not one of them. Once we let the blood flow, it'll be hard to stop it. She might become truly unable to have more children. Or… it could be even worse."

The three women understood him perfectly.

"And if I don't do anything, I'll probably have an ordinary time and could make it to term?" There was a glint in Elia's eyes. For all the problems this unexpected news would bring her, she felt recovered, renewed, taken by relief coming from her heart… and the depth of her womb. She was still capable of having children. She wasn't the damaged goods she had felt like in years. The thought of having Arthur's child brought colour to her cheeks and joy in her heart, as well as realization of the grim irony of the situation: once, she had wished for this to happen but not really expected it; now, she had not been expected it either but it was coming true, in a grim distortion of a young girl's dream.

"I don't see why not," the old man who had once delivered her said gently.

In the silence that followed, terrible and deadly, Alynna's laughter rang out, giving way to something that was half a hysteric and half a howl. "Oh Mother!" she screamed. "That means that Errol, my father, and Maurel died in vain!"

Her cousins stared at her in mute horror, unable to calm her down, unable to refute her claim. How could they… when it was true? She started laughing again, her face contorted in anguish, her body shaking. Naeryn went to her and without hesitation, slapped her on the cheek, hard. Alynna let out a sob and then took a deep breath. "Thank you," she murmured. On her cheek, a red five-fingered flower blossomed.

"Is that all, Maester Caleotte?" Naeryn asked calmly and when he nodded, she said, "You may go."

He looked at the Princess. Elia gave a terse nod and he went out.

"He looks quite relieved," Alynna said, too controlled for Elia's taste. "He doesn't appreciate the entertainment I provided."

"It isn't funny, Alynna," Elia snapped.

"Not in the least," Alynna snapped back. "Well, we cannot risk your life… and honestly, I wouldn't put your childbearing ability at risk either. Not now. I'll happily help you with the wedding preparations."

She was thinking a few steps ahead of everyone else. Of course, if Elia was to keep the babe, she had to take a husband – and shoulder this scandal to avoid the greater one. But they all knew that a good deal of Alynna's acceptance of the situation was not only due to concern about her cousin. _She became very bitter_ , Oberyn had told his sister early after their reunion. _Thankfully, the happiness she found once again alleviated a great deal of it. But not all. That's yet another thing I blame on your former husband and his Northerner. She's not the same person, Elia. She's changed_. Elia hadn't believed him and now she wondered why she hadn't. Alynna had not only lost a husband, father and brother to the war, she had actually seen them die. _How could I ever think that happiness would be enough to erase it?_

"Alynna, do you hear yourself?" Naeryn asked angrily, taking one of Elia's hairbrushes from the dressing table and starting to brush her hair out with more force than necessary. "You're ready to plunge Elia into a new marriage…"

"I am plunging her?" Alynna sounded amazed. "She was the one who plunged herself into a bed she didn't belong in…"

"Doesn't matter! We don't have the right to tell her…"

"It matters! And I do have the right – my husband is dead because of this lie!"

Suddenly, she fell silent, realizing what she had just said. Elia gasped. Naeryn started to say something and closed her mouth. She had gotten their meaning as well.

"Do you think it was a lie?" Elia finally asked.

Alynna and Naeryn looked at each other, reconciled, and shrugged at the same moment. "You are the one who should know," Naeryn said. "We weren't there. But I have to say that the impression I got from the Grand Maester wasn't one of a fool or incompetent. He's very wily and… Well, clearly you _can_ have other babies. And I don't think he was certain that you couldn't. Even if he thought it, he couldn't have known. Generally, maesters avoid attributing bad news such a level of certainty when they aren't sure. As far as I know, he presented it to Rhaegar as a fact?"

Elia nodded and wondered whether the truth would have changed something. Rhaegar had been obsessed with Lyanna Stark long before Aegon's birth. As much as it stung her pride, she had to admit that probably, he would have found another pretext to go after the foolish child.

But his disappointment with the fact that he hadn't gotten a girl from Lyanna was evident. Rumours had started trailing the second queen – the only queen, now. And they might have some basis. After all, there had never been any indication of another child, despite Lyanna's thriving health and the fact that Rhaegar visited her bedchamber almost every night. Elia felt a drop of gloating mixing with her excitement. She would have another babe, by the man she loved, while Rhaegar would still chase his dream of a second girl. Lately, he has started giving Lyanna the same look of silent disappointment that he had addressed at Elia after the maesters' news, as if she had done it on purpose. She smiled. _Alynna isn't the only one who's changed_ , she thought. Five years ago, she would have been terrified of feeling anything but the purest of emotions toward any child of hers, born or unborn; now, she welcomed the malicious joy, as if this babe was a war prize she had snatched in a silent, unacknowledged war with Rhaegar, as if the realization of just how wrong he had been would erase a small bit of the pain he had caused her and hers.

"I wish I could be there when they get the news," Alynna said spitefully. "Just to see their faces." She laughed. "I'll bet he won't be happy to know that you are going to give Arthur the child he so craves."

For a second time in the last few minutes, she paused, realizing what she had just said. A shared look with Naeryn showed her that she wasn't alone in her assumptions. But that was all they were – assumptions. "It's Arthur's, isn't it?" she asked carefully. "I cannot imagine your condition has anything to do with another man."

"Of course it's Arthur's!" Elia sounded offended. "Who else's could it be?"

And in saying it, she realized that she had made her decision.

* * *

When he came to her, the sun was already past its highest point. Small rectangular forms of light made their way through the grating meant to keep the full power of the sun away from Elia's exhausted form. Tiny petals of dust were swimming in the air each time Arthur looked in the direction of the window.

"Please, take a seat." Elia's voice was neutral, revealing nothing. He frowned at noticing how pale she was, clad for comfort into a robe of dark silk, her hair tumbling about her shoulders. Clearly, she has decided to take a rest from her duties. _That's a first since her arrival._

"You have called for me, Princess."

"You weren't too quick to answer."

There was an edge to her voice that Arthur hadn't expected. He wasn't sure what he had expected, anyway. His foolish hopes of a reconciliation died away as soon as he saw the look in her eyes, a mixture of fear, resentment, something like joy, as strange as it was… but no love.

"I wasn't in the palace. I made it here as soon as I returned and heard that you have summoned me."

Elia was about to ask where he had been but she came to realize that she did not really care. It would be only a way to prolong the inevitable. But now, when he was here, all of a sudden she found out that she was not certain in her decision at all. She knew that he loved her, that he regretted what he had helped Rhaegar do to her. But she had no guarantees that his loyalty to her was now greater than the pull of the vow he had been released from for mere months. He had been no mere Kingsguard – he had been Rhaegar's friend. Could she really take the risk to join her fate with his?

Of course, it wasn't as if she had a choice. Every day, every hour postponing a wedding was wasted, non-recoverable time. Even if she could expel the babe, she wouldn't do it. She couldn't, it was against everything she stood for, everything she was. She could not start her ruling with her own babe's murder, especially now that Aegon was lost to her. And she could not give birth to a bastard. Even in Dorne, that would be her downfall.

"I am with child," she said, suddenly desperate for it to be over.

His head jerked up and he gave her a look of utter astonishment. "Is this a jape?" he asked sharply. "Another way to punish me? I did not think you were so cruel, my lady."

"I cannot possibly match you in cruelty," Elia shot back. "But no, I am not jesting. Maester Caleotte confirmed it today. You can ask your brother if you don't trust me. Alynna was with me and I believe Arel is already informed of the situation."

But he couldn't, really. Arel was keeping his distance; seething and resentful, Arthur had watched him interact with his old friends, the ones who had occupied Arthur's own place in his heart. He could not go over to him and ask such a question.

And he didn't need to, actually. Elia would not make such a thing up just to spite him. For a moment, the political uproar flashed to his mind, swiftly replaced by horror. _What have I done? And for no reason at all!_

He had betrayed Elia, blinded by his desire to have her… but his actions had also been guided by duty. Duty to Rhaegar. Who had been guided by a lie.

He had turned his back on Elia and sat the war away while his friends, his countrymen had been dying. All for a lie. He had built his life over a lie… a lie that had affected thousands, killed thousands.

She was staring at him, her entire being focused on catching his reaction. The flash of horror and mortification was immediate – she could feel it because she had spent the last ten years becoming more aware of his body language and all emotions he strove to hide. She could smell his remorse, his guilt as if they were her own. Her anger melted away.

"We'll have a child, Arthur," she said softly. "Can't you rejoice?"

"No," he replied in a hollow voice.

Elia rose and crossed the solar to him. "Neither can I," she admitted. "But I cannot miscarry, Arthur. And I wouldn't have, even if I could."

He looked up. From this close, his expression broke her heart, his pallor, his haunted eyes. He looked crushed and defenceless, as if she had just broken a major foundation in his life. She clasped her hands together, fearing that she would reach out and press a hand against his cheek.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "That was the last thing I ever wanted to do to you."

She smiled bitterly. "You're so good at doing things to me that you never wanted to, Arthur, but this is no fault of yours. It was I who came to you… and I who failed to take the moon tea properly. However, I suppose it doesn't matter… I need a husband now, as you can see. Will you be this husband?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, without much excitement and even less joy. The Princess of Dorne could not have a bastard… and he was scared of his own reaction should she step between the statues of the Father and the Mother with someone else. Ten years was long enough time.

But two months was too short. His countrymen had just started becoming used to him again. Not trusting him but accepting his presence with less of outright hostility. Wedding Elia now would make all bad feelings come back.

Still looking at him, Elia decided to postpone the most important points of the arrangement she intended to offer him. She might wed him, she loved him even – but trust was another matter altogether. Just because she would wed him didn't mean that she intended to give him more privileges than he merited… which, at this point, was not this many at all. She certainly wouldn't make him his partner and almost equal, not the way her father had been to her mother. Alric had been worthy. Arthur, as much as it pained her, was not.

But he was in no state to discuss such things now. And that delighted her in a grim way that made disgust at herself squeeze at her heart. He was having pangs of conscience and that was a good thing. He didn't think that his oath exonerated him for what he had done, that his obedience cleared him of all wrongdoing when his orders had been founded on an untruth. He could still be saved. Still be transformed into a worthy consort. It would just take time. Aerys and Rhaegar hadn't taken Arthur Dayne away from their most glorious Kingsguard. He had just been asleep.

"I'll let you know how the preparations are advancing," Elia said. "And of course, we'll have to talk about what to expect of this marriage. But not now."

He recognized the dismissal and rose. Upon entering, he had been a still young man with a spring in his step and hope in his heart. Now he moved like an old man bearing the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Elia looked away, scared that should she lay her eyes on him again, she would reach out and offer him the comfort and forgiveness he did not deserve at all. It was bad enough that she had to deal with this new crisis so soon after all other changes in her life. She could not let him know just how great a flaw her fondness of him was. Not yet.

* * *

In the courtyard, the sun hit him like a thousand of tiny arrows that attacked his eyes like a desert sun through a sandstorm. Arthur was surprised that it was still noon – he had thought that his conversation with Elia had lasted hours, if not days. He started walking along the wall without any idea where he was going.

A child. She was with child. He had betrayed all of them for nothing. For a lie. During the hellish years after the war, he had soothed his conscience with the idea that he had been acting in the Seven Kingdom's best interest, even if Rhaegar had turned out to be wrong. It had never quite worked. And now to find out that the King's decision had been founded on a false premise… It was too much to bear.

The sun still tormented his eyes but inside, he felt terribly cold. Going to his chamber to take another item of clothing, though, would require too much effort and actual thinking, so he just kept shivering as he walked along the wall, realizing that the wall protecting his heart and conscience had just been brought down. A lie. All those horrors could have been avoided.

"Come here."

The voice was so unexpected that Arthur blinked before turning left, very slowly. His brother gave him a calm look, as if he didn't see what a mess Arthur looked like, and spoke to him as if he were addressing someone in their right mind. "Come with me," he said.

Silently, Arthur followed. He could not find the strenght to muster the question of what he owed the change to. But when he saw they were approaching his brother's chambers, he warned, "If your wife sees me here, you might be in trouble."

"I am fully capable of dealing with Alynna's discontent," Arel said, quite unbothered. "And besides, she's already warned that I am bringing you in."

Still, Arthur felt a bit of relief when he didn't see Lady Dayne in the hallways or the solar with heavy oak and soft velvet coverings. On all tables, there were vases of flowers – sunflowers spreading the radiance of their names, bleeding roses, sparkling asters… Books and a sewing basket… A settee with a cushion still bearing the print of a body. Despite the magnificence of the marble floor and rich tapestries, the chamber felt like home. Arthur had heard that the apartment had been actually given to Arel and Alynna to keep even when they were not in Sunspear – something very unusual for a busy place like the Old Palace where every small space mattered. He tried to remember whether it had initially belonged to Alynna and her first husband and cousin – who had been Elia's cousin, as well – and failed. It had been so many years since he had last lived here!

He accepted the goblet his brother placed in his hands. A warm mix of milk, wine, and honey. He drank and realized how dry his mouth had been.

"Why?" he finally asked.

Arel shrugged. "You're my brother," he said, by the way of explanation.

"I was your brother yesterday as well," Arthur reminded him. He didn't know why he was pressing the matter when the answer was obvious. _I must be a pitiful sight indeed if he decided that I need care._

Arel sighed. "No matter what you think, seeing you in pain was never something I could take delight in. And after Alynna told me, I knew you would be in pain."

Arthur sipped at the warm drink that seemed to restore the clarity of his mind somewhat… to his horror. "Pain is too kind a word for it," he said softly. "I feel so foul."

"So you should."

But there was no gloating in his brother's voice or expression, no hint of anger. Just a statement of a fact. "Do you remember, Arthur, out last meeting after it was over and what I told you then? I told you that one day, you'd truly understand what you helped being done on the realm, on us. As you see, that's what happened. But it brought you quite down. And I never wanted that. I think you'll need all the help you can get to rise once again… and keep going. Because this marriage of yours will be all but a smooth one right now."

"I realize that."

Arel gave him a long look. He looked so much like Ashara when she had been asking troubled questions that his vows forbade him from answering that Arthur startled.

"I wonder whether you do."

Arel was wrong, though. Arthur did realize the bleak future awaiting him in a marriage with a woman who distrusted him, and with good reason. He simply couldn't bring himself to care. He hadn't eaten since last night and the wine in his drink now went straight to his head, bringing back the faces of all those he had loved and betrayed, and let down. He vaguely realized that he was a man pressed beyond his endurance who saw no escape from the prison of his own mind.

Maybe Arel sensed this, somehow. Vaguely, Arthur felt the goblet being taken from him. A cool cloth was pressed to his forehead, his cheeks. "Come on," Arel said softly. "Go to sleep. Rest. Everything will be better in a few hours. I promise."

Much later, Arthur would shake his head at his own acceptance. Arel could not give such promise. He only gave promises that he could fulfill. But then, that was the very reason Arthur believed him now. He let himself turn over and lie down on the settee he had been occupying. Arel dragged a chair nearby and took a seat. Arthur reached out and touched his hand. "Stay," he murmured, half-asleep already or rather, half-unconscious under the weight of the discovery, the whole senselessness of his betrayal.

"I will," Arel replied.

He did not add anything and Arthur was grateful. Only when he was drifting off to sleep, he thought he heard his brother murmur, "Welcome back."

But after all, it might have been all a dream.

 


	20. Back to Times Long Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thanks to everyone who commented.

Her mother usually came to her after she had already gone to bed. That was a tradition they had kept from their time at King's Landing and Rhaenys enjoyed it very much. It was her time to share everything that had happened during the day and hear what had happened through Elia's day, her time to make her pleas and try to talk her mother into something that was just the most important thing in the world and if only Elia would see it…

Her bedchamber was overlooking the sea and before going to bed, she liked to climb atop the back of the settee and stare through the high window at the stars shining against the dark depths, the moon path shimmering silver and bright, and thought that the world was so big yet the moon and stars were one and the same – for her and her mother, for Laval, for her father and Aegon. She felt that the moon brought them together.

That was how Elia found her when she entered the chamber with the pale blue walls and bright curtains, the fountain in the corner humming its incessant song. "What are you doing up there?" she asked, half-stern and half-amused.

Rhaenys looked sheepish. "I was just thinking," she said and the corners of Elia's mouth twitched.

"Fine, then go thinking in your bed."

Rhaenys obediently climbed down. She was already in her nightgown and Elia's heart jumped with fear when she saw her daughter tripping in her hem before her foot reached the settee. But Rhaenys regained her balance before Elia could cry out. She even gave her mother a reproachful look. "Don't be scared over nothing, Mama," she said.

Elia remembered little Oberyn and his explanations at falling down a tree, almost drowning, touching a hot stone in the kitchens where he had had no business being. "I had to know how high it was, how deep it was, how hot it was." She had heard this tune so often that she could sing it half-asleep, so she decided against asking Rhaenys why she was doing such dangerous things. She did not really want to hear the answer.

Rhaenys snuggled against her pillows and Elia blew all the candles but one, piled a few cushions atop of each other, taking a seat on the upper one. She reached for Rhaenys' hand. "How was your day?" she asked.

"It was a good one. I've got a letter from Father," Rhaenys claimed boldly. For all her mother's efforts to not speak badly of Rhaegar, Rhaenys was well aware that her father was not loved here. In that intuitive way children had, the girl had realized that the topic of her father was not one her mother welcomed, so she avoided it as well.

But now, Elia only smiled. "Did you?" she said; for a moment, Rhaenys was gripped by the terrible suspicion that her mother might have read the letter before it made its way to her. It wasn't fair… if she had.

Anyway, her mother did not look angry. She simply stroked Rhaenys' hair away from her cheek. "I need to tell you something," she said.

Instinctively, Rhaenys tensed, anticipating a blow, although she didn't know what it would be.

"You know that after the High Septon had our marriage annulled, Lady Lyanna became your father's sole queen, don't you?"

"I do," Rhaenys said cautiously.

"Well, since I am now a ruler in my own right, I need to wed as well."

"Do you?" the girl asked plaintively, although she had heard the whispers and bets who her mother's consort would be."

"Yes," Elia said and paused. "I chose Ser Arthur," she finally said. "I believe he'll be good to both of us," she added.

In the silence that followed, the sputtering of the candle made a discernible sound. Elia's hand had stilled against Rhaenys' head.

"Do you love him?" Rhaenys finally asked. She had always known that her parents did not love each other but the thought of her mother loving another man more than she did her terrified her. Ser Arthur was a brave knight and someone she preferred to all other men Elia might choose from. But he could not love Elia like Rhaenys did, like Aegon did. And her mother could not love him more than anything, could she?

Elia gave her a curious look, wondering what the child's fears were due to. For she knew there were fears. "Love should not be a consideration for a marriage, my sweet," she said. "I am not wedding him because I love him."

Rhaenys released the breath she had been holding, overwhelmed by relief. Elia resumed stroking her hair. "It won't change anything for you, my sweet," she assured her. "You won't be forced to spend more time with him or something. You're the King's daughter and Ser Arthur will be my husband in two days. That's it. You and Aegon are still the ones I love most."

Rhaenys didn't know whether to believe her. Eventually, she did, but it didn't stop her from breaking down in sobs as soon as Elia left her room with a smile and a goodnight kiss. She could not help but wish things were the same as they had been only a year ago.

* * *

At the time Elia reached her father's chambers, her state was not much better than her daughter's. If she couldn't get a child who had known Arthur her entire life to be happy, what chance did she have with the rest of Dorne? She was not a fool. She knew Arthur was not well-received in Dorne. Too many had lost husbands, sons, fathers, and brothers during the Rebellion. The fact that he had guarded Lyanna at the tower named by Rhaegar with that ridiculous name was widely known, and not speaking in his favour. If he would have once been considered not worthy of serious consideration as her husband, now it was tenfold more valid, and yet she had to espouse him in mere days. She could easily imagine the uproar it would cause all over Dorne.

The idea of inviting all her bannermen to celebrate her wedding as was customary was indefensible, for that might well mean that there would be no wedding at all. But she had to rely on her friends among them, insure their support. _Even Alynna became reconciled with the prospect_ , she reminded herself. _Why not the rest of them?_

There were no guards at the door of Alric's private chambers. It struck her that in less than three days, there would be such at Arthur's. The former Kingsguard would have to accept being guarded. The very idea of it made her chuckle despite her concern.

Alric let her in immediately. He was sitting into his favourite chair with a book and it suddenly occurred to her that since they had returned, she had not heard a word linking his name to any woman's. That struck her as strange because he had had multiple affairs for a good part of his marriage. Now, with Arianne dead, it would make sense for him to return to his one-time habits, and yet he hadn't.

"What's going on?" he asked as soon as he saw her. His eyes were filled with concern. "Take a seat."

She did and then gave a little gasp when her father's favourite greyhound bumped against her feet under the table. A huge head emerged to rest in her lap and Alric shook his head. "You traitor," he told the dog. "Ready to trade me for the first soft voice around here."

The greyhound huffed dismissively and Elia laughed.

"I need to talk to you," she said a moment later, sobering. "About my marriage," she specified.

Something in her voice made Alric bristle in anticipation of something unpleasant. "What do you mean?"

"The only fate worse than what I escaped would be fighting with a potential husband over controlling Dorne. Or somehow let Dorne become pressed into a corner, so I would have to accept a man hand-picked by no other than Rhaegar."

Alric didn't answer at once. Now that she had said it, he realized just how scared she had been of Rhaegar outmaneuvering her somehow. He was smart. And she had no experience ruling.

"So, what do you intent to do?"

She drew a harsh breath. "I'll wed Arthur," she said. "In two days."

This was one of the rare moments when Alric was rendered speechless. He stared at his daughter in mute amazement swiftly replaced by worry at the very obvious lack of enthusiasm in her expression. "Is there any need to speed the wedding so?" he asked softly.

Elia blushed. "There is."

Alric burst out laughing. His losses, his hurt prevented him from thinking about the resulting complications. He only saw the blow the news would be for the occupant of the Iron Throne. "Oh that's rich! I wish I could be a fly on the wall in the throne room when Rhaegar gets to hear about this."

"It isn't funny," Elia said firmly, refusing to laugh.

"Child, of course it is. Don't tell me you aren't gloating a little."

"Well, maybe a tiny bit," Elia admitted. "But gloating isn't worth it."

There was a long silence during which the greyhound felt obliged to lighten the mood by suddenly reaching out with head and paws which sent Elia against the back of the chair just before she got a wet kiss all over her cheek. She yelped and laughed.

"You still don't trust him, do you? Is that the problem?"

"Yes… and no." Elia was speaking slowly. Indeed, she didn't know. "I trust him that he wouldn't betray me… and yet, I cannot help but ask myself, What if…? He's done it before. I know he had to obey but – he was supposed to protect me first, even if it wasn't a part of his oaths. He knew that Rhaegar knew it, and yet he chose to join him in abandoning me and the children in Aerys' hands. I don't know, Father. All I know is that this situation is making me distrustful and unhappy."

"Not one of my foes," Alric said, "has caused me greater suffering than your mother, and yet she loved me very much as I did her. Stop mixing love with happiness, Elia. The truth is, those we love can hurt us like no other. That's the way of things. Consider yourself lucky that you've had your share of hurt before the wedding. This way, you won't be entering it starry-eyed."

All of a sudden, Elia felt a little better. Her father was right, she and Arthur had been through their worst period already. And they knew each other better than any other spouse-to-be did, they had literally been sharing their lives for ten years. _Do I really distrust him so much_ , she wondered. _Or is it simply that I cannot forgive him for the past?_ She knew that his friendship with Rhaegar was broken beyond repair, that his loyalty has been hers alone for years. She was, in fact, fighting just a deeply seated fear that the pull of his one-time oaths could turn too strong.

Suddenly, the world became a much brighter place. She leaned over the huge head in her lap and smacked it with a loud kiss. Alric snickered and complained, "How is it that I am the one dispersing sage advice, yet the dog is the one getting all the love?"

He saw that she was about to rise and waved his hands defensively. "No, no! Dog slobber and dog hairs – you can keep them to yourself." He paused. "But you can take him with you to have his fur to cry into when you're explaining this to Oberyn and your uncle."

Elia sighed. "I hoped I could rely on your help about this…"

"You can," her father said, albeit not too enthusiastically.

* * *

With his former squire, Arthur had been most meticulous where swordsmanship was concerned. Every other weapon was just a side thing – for a man, sword was the most important one for a man to master. Through the years, though, his views had changed somewhat, and his current squire was a boy who could not be served by learning sword to the detriment of other skills. He was Dornish, so mastering the spear was a must. And his incredible agility and coordination of hand and eye would not let Arthur neglect his bowmanship. He had to squeeze those in, somehow, before the changes brought by growing up coarsen the boy. If he waited until then, a golden chance would be lost. He could not do such a thing in good faith.

So, he alternated. Every day, they had practice and every day they alternated weapons. Mace and morningstar were the ones Laval disliked most. Coincidentally, they were Arthur's least favourite, as well. Not that it mattered.

"Good," Arthur said when the arrow struck a shield fixed in the branches of a tree about a hundred steps from them. Even from this distance, he could say that the arrow had struck if not the very centre, then somewhere quite near. "And now, I want you to pierce it. I want to see the point sticking from the other side."

Laval stared at him in mute horror. The shield was made by leather that had been tanned and dried so expertly and strung so snugly against the wood that it would take the strength of a twelve-year-old to break through. But he knew better than contradict, so he drew the bow and sent the arrow. This time, his concern made his aim inaccurate and he only managed to hit the shield near the rim, not even close to the centre.

He looked at Arthur who only looked back. Without saying anything, Laval went to retrieve his arrow and started again. Failed again.

_It'll take months_ , Arthur thought. _But at the end, he'll do it._ He couldn't say why he was so certain. His own hands itched to choose a bow from the armoury and set his own target.

"He might make an excellent mounted archer one day."

Alric's voice startled him. He turned about and startled once again at the sight of the man accompanying Alric: his brother Lord Gargalen, the man who had once fostered him, who had trained him like he was now training Laval. His own father had sustained a debilitating injury when Arthur had been still a child so Mikkel Gargalen's voice had remained the only one leading him on the path towards manhood.

_He looks so much like Aerys._ This thought gave him chills. But the emotion behind those purple eyes was not fear, or drive for cruelty. It was anger and behind it, disappointment. Arthur was taken aback when he found out that disappointment was the one that pained him most.

Apprehension weighed upon him once again. If he could not bring the man who had practically brought him up to forgive him, what chance did he have with the rest of Dorne? His former friends? The ones who had lost loved ones? The smallfolk who had once cheered for him but took any slight against House Martell ever so personally?

One look at the two men told him that they had already been informed. Or if they hadn't been, Naeryn would do it soon. If Alynna knew, there was no way Naeryn hadn't been told. She walked next to Alric, impossibly dry and lovely in her ruby gown in the afternoon heat. The smile on her equally ruby lips told him nothing and anyway, she soon turned her attention to Laval.

"Why," she said. "Here is a determined boy."

She was watching how he, having failed once again to get his arrow through the shield, just went to draw it back and returned to his starting place.

"Soon, he's going to do it," Arthur said. "He has a good eye and his coordination is excellent. A mounted archer, indeed," he added to Laval's grandfathers.

Alric only nodded, as if it was evident. Mikkel only followed the boy's movements with squinted eyes.

"Why," Naeryn said lightly. "He reminds me of another boy I used to know."

"I can't see any resemblance," Mikkel snapped and beckoned Laval closer.

"The shield is adamant, eh?" Alric said before his brother could take his irritation on the boy.

"I am more adamant," Laval assured him. His smile quickly died as he assessed the tension.

"We came to see you," Naeryn announced cheerfully. "I was just saying that you remind me so much of Ser Arthur when he was your age."

Mikkel glared at his niece but Laval perked up immediately. "Do I? For real?"

Something flickered behind Alric's eyes. He gave both his brother and Arthur a long look and smiled at Naeryn, his mind made up. "My dear, would you mind showing Laval a memory long gone? I really feel we should all see that."

The young woman looked surprised but sent Laval inside, ordering him to return with a crystal bowl. Arthur felt that his squire couldn't return soon enough because the tension was so thick that he could practically cut it with Dawn. The way Alric and Mikkel avoided each other's eyes told him that they had been arguing heatedly. Naeryn was clearly very angry, although he couldn't say whether this was due to her earlier anger with him, or she felt that this situation with Elia was somehow his fault. He had nothing to say and they weren't too keen on talking either, so when the boy returned, he was immensely relieved, although he wasn't sure what Alric had in mind.

Naeryn took the bowl and filled it with water from the corner where one of the outlets of the aqueduct supplying the Old Palace roared with the cascade of bursting water on two levels. She chose the upper level, the one for household needs, and then placed it on the stump of a wood cut because it had become dangerously unstable. They all came close, Mikkel clearly unwilling, Laval thrilled that he'd see magic being done, and Arthur wondering what Alric had in mind.

"Cut me," Naeryn told Alric, extending her hand.

He took his dagger and nicked her slightly. Naeryn waited until three drops of blood fell in the water and then asked him to do the same. The obsidian on her brow glinted black like dread.

As soon as the third drop of Alric's blood fell in the water, the rippled formed by the disturbance started gurgling as they swallowed it. When the surface was calm once again, an image appeared before them.

It was one of the rocks around the castle of Salt Shore. They all recognized it at once. A solitary rock, always attacked by winds, falling so steeply into the sea that having once tumbled over the edge, a man simply had nothing to cling in his fall.

Well away from the edge, a boy was trying to make a complete turnaround with his sword in hand. A grizzled knight was there to meet his attacks, always a little slower than they should be because the boy could not keep his body and his blade balanced enough for such a swift turn. Each time, his rival had time to meet the blow.

Not far away from them, a much younger Alric Gargalen was looking at his brother skeptically. "Why don't you transform this into a half-turning?" he asked. "You see Arthur cannot do the complete rotation. And a half-turning would serve him well enough."

"But a complete rotation would be much better," Mikkel said, looking convinced.

"Not if you keep pressing him with something he cannot do, it won't. At the end, you'll ruin his confidence and that will be it. You saw that at Hellholt he failed at that and didn't make it to the last day. If he hadn't been following this whim of yours…"

"This whim of mine," Mikkel said, now visibly irritated, "will make him one of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. No one else will be able to repeat it any time soon. Strength would be no problem for him when he's fast enough to strike before they can even recover their balance, let alone reflect his blow."

Alric shook his head. "Sounds lovely," he said. "And quite impossible, from what I see. Leave the boy alone, Mikkel. This striving for unattainable perfection will be your downfall. Worse, it will be his."

Mikkel's irritation turned to anger in the matter of moments. "What you see," he echoed. "That's very interesting since you aren't watching. Look, for the seven's sake!"

"What do you mean? I…"

But he started watching more closely now. Try and failing. Try and failing. Try and failing. Try and failing once again.

He turned back to his brother, stunned.

Mikkel smiled. "Do you see? You aren't the first one who has advised me to remove the turnaround from his training. I didn't even tell him. He'll die but at the end, he'll do it."

Tender mist rose from the sea, wrapping everything in its tendrils. Faces disappeared. Voices faded. Naeryn turned back and made a step away from the bowl. The pendant on her brow gave a last glint and became an ordinary jewel, pretty and dull.

"Did you do it?" Laval asked excitedly. "You must have! This rotation is now something no one else but you can do…"

Arthur nodded. "I did it," he said. "It only took me a year of perseverance. I did it at Oldtown, in front of thousands who had come to see Ser Gerold Hightower making a short work of me. Instead, he was the one who was made short work of. It worked just like your grandfather said it would."

"His grandfather," Mikkel said icily, "has said many things through the years, some of them quite nonsensical."

He turned to his brother angrily. "Why was this journey to times long gone, Alric?"

Alric shrugged, very casually. "Why, I thought it might be interesting to both Laval and Arthur," he said. "Help them put the things in perspective, so to say."

"Indeed," Arthur assured him, "you were a great help. Now I can see many things far more clear."

He was smiling, the heat of the afternoon no longer suffocating, and the future ahead of him not quite so grim.

 


	21. The Wedding of Disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thanks to everyone who dropped a comment!

"Please tell me that I heard you wrong."

Alric didn't say it.

"Please tell me that it doesn't mean what I think it means."

Alric shook his head. "I cannot say such a thing."

"Of course you can. Try it." Oberyn's voice was indeed pleading. The dog raised his brown head and snarled. Even he could say that a pleading Oberyn was not the usual kind of Oberyn. Alric didn't necessarily like it better.

Oberyn rose and went to the window. As usual in this hottest time of the day, most people had gone indoors to have a rest, from the master-at-arms to the kitchen girls. There was indeed no point in trying to do one's job when the very air enticed one to sleep. But looking closer, Oberyn noticed that the level of activity was too high for this hour. In the courtyard beyond the garden his father's chambers were overlooking, men carried heavy tables and benches and women swept twigs and leaves away. Come to think of it, he had glimpsed a lot of bustle in the kitchen area, as well. Now, it made sense. They were making preparations for Elia's wedding… tomorrow. Of course, she couldn't invite the greatest among her bannermen but there were those who were too prideful to learn of her wedding afterwards. Besides. she would have asked her friends to come. For one, Oberyn could not imagine a wedding of Elia's without Ashara Dayne in attendance. And the small party entering the Old Palace flying the Gargalen banner right now? Was he mistaken, or was this his aunt Ranna?

"Am I the last one to be told?" he asked evenly.

His father didn't try to pretend. "I'd rather you be away and be told in the aftermath. But alas, you happened to be here."

Oberyn looked at the ceiling. "Thank you, Father, that you've sent me such an honest father," he said sarcastically.

Suddenly, Alric gripped Oberyn by the shoulders. "Now, it isn't the time to pass judgment," he said tersely. "Elia's child was conceived in the night before she stepped in her role. We have no time to lose. And realistically, she could have made a much worse choice than Arthur."

"Could she?" But Oberyn's voice had lost some of it edge. He was swept by the relief that his father's grip was as strong as ever. After Alric's last fit, he had started fearing that viper wine had started causing damages that could not be reversed.

"Yes. Someone who would push their own agenda, or benefit their House."

"Someone like you?" Oberyn snapped.

For a moment, he thought that his father would strike him. He had gone too far. If anyone could truly realize how much it had cost Alric to always play a second fiddle to his lady wife, deferring to her decisions even when he thought them a bad one, to keep his pride in check for the sake of Dorne, to spend his entire life pushing Arianne's agenda, that was Oberyn, for they were so much alike. Fiercely loyal. Vengeful. Unforgiving. Always quick to act. Arianne had been born to rule and Alric to overcome any reign forced upon him, so he had been forced to overcome his own core. And out of all Dornishmen, Alric's House had been the one most useful to Arianne, providing her with councilors, leadership of her fleet, and staunch support against any malcontents. They had benefitted greatly but not unjustly.

For the briefest of minutes, the anger crossing Alric's face was such that Oberyn was reminded of the man his father had used to be. Then, the flicker was gone as swiftly as it had come. "If you think so," Alric said coldly. "The fact of the matter is, Oberyn, that for all his mistakes Arthur loves her. And his guilt won't let him take a stand against her in anything, in the beginning at least. I'd say that'll be a good start of her rule. If we can pull through the very beginning of her marriage, that is. No matter your personal feelings, I expect you to show nothing but support to both Elia and Arthur, do you hear me? Tomorrow, you'll smile and toast them, and behave as if Arthur is the match you have always wanted for your sister. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Oberyn said, showing his teeth. The dog did the same and then yowled, his eyes moving from his master to Oberyn and back, as if he couldn't understand what was going on. Well, Oberyn couldn't either. Elia was supposed to be _smart_. He leaned over. "No, no, Striking, we aren't fighting. It isn't Father that I am angry with. Come here, Striking, and let's be friends again. Father, why did you have to give him such a silly name?"

Slightly mollified, the greyhound came near and let Oberyn scratch him behind the ears. However, he didn't offer his belly for a rub. Great. Now, it was not only Alric who was angry with him but the dog, as well!

A sudden smile touched Alric's lips and then disappeared. In the bright golden light, he looked once again tired and lost his drive for life. "I can offer you a salve for your anger," he said. "Just think of what Rhaegar will think of that when he gets to know."

Slowly, Oberyn returned the smile. "It helps somewhat," he said. "Yes, I think that might just help me pull through."

"I hope so." Alric didn't look convinced. Of course he wouldn't be.

Like and like, father and son. But while Alric's bite had been honed and tempered with time, Oberyn was still young enough to have his blood boil. He wanted to punish all those who had betrayed Elia and Dorne, who had cost them so – and he wanted to do it not only politically and emotionally. He wanted to do it physically. He wanted to feel the hurt.

As soon as he parted with his father, he went to look for his traitorous goodbrother to be. All along the way, he encountered evidence of the wedding preparations and that fed his anger like a fire that would never be sated, just rising higher with each added twig. So Arthur thought he could just worm his way back from behind Elia's back? Not where Oberyn was concerned. He had helped Rhaegar harm Oberyn's family and Dorne and that, Oberyn would never forgive, Elia or no Elia.

Another face drove him to further anger. Loreza, his golden-haired half-sister. As lovely as they came and even kinder and gentler. A man had ruined her, taking advantage of her when she had been in no state to protest. Just like Elia had been that night. Oh, Oberyn did not doubt that Arthur had not forced himself upon her. But it was not so different, truly. Elia had been drunk that night and Oberyn knew well how susceptible women could be in that state. Arthur had used her in her moment of weakness, that much was clear. And that night had now the potential to ruin her life, just like that single occasion – Oberyn prayed that it had been a single occasion – had ruined their sister's life, he thought furiously. And as he strode through the Old Palace, somewhere in the haze of the Dornish afternoon sun, the faces of Arthur Dayne and Davel Vaith melted in one.

A question to a servant hurrying with a heavy yellow cloth in hands steered him in the right direction. Arthur was kneeling in the small armoury, going through various bows. He had already discarded a dozen or so. At Oberyn's approach, he looked up and rose.

"Congratulations," Oberyn said. "I heard you were going to rise above us all."

His mild tone screamed danger. He knew that Arthur knew it, yet the former Kingsguard did not look away. "That was not my intention, my Prince, but I guess you could say that."

"You would guess such a thing?" Now, it was sarcasm colouring Oberyn's tone. The change in Arthur was evident, and not one that he liked. He still looked tormented as he ought but he had lost that look of guilt that could hold no hope to be forgiven, the grim resignation that had, until very recently, wrapped him like that soiled white cloak had before. Instead, he looked confident, balanced, certain that things would sort themselves out. Indeed, they had – for him.

Smiling, Oberyn went to the bottom of the room where the spears were and opened the glass window to stroke the tip of one. Good, solid iron. He whirled around, pointing it at Arthur's chest. "You deserve to have that drawn all the way through what passes for your heart."

Arthur sighed. "I cannot blame you for thinking so. I can only say that I am sorry and I'll do my best to make amends."

Oberyn didn't move the tip of the spear. Now, he wished he had doused it in poison! Had Arthur lost his mind enough to think that he could make amends? Was the madness at King's Landing infectious?

"Amends," he spat. "What kind of amends can you make? Can you return my uncles' lives? My cousins'? You cannot. Tell me, Arthur, what _amends_ are you talking about?"

Arthur inclined his head. "I wish I had died instead of them," he said. "Not that I expect you to believe me."

"You're right," Oberyn agreed. "I don't believe you. Anyway, I also wish that it had been you. But you live, don't you? They who died for your prince's stupidity are no longer, yet you live and will climb to the highest seat in Dorne."

All of a sudden, his cold disdain left him, revealing the face of fury personified. "Who do you think you are? You think you can simply sit in the seat my father occupied for thirty years with honour, rule this land along with Elia, and take the respect due to her consort after all that you did? You who are nothing compared to my father!"

He meant to offend but he was far off the mark. Arthur was well aware that unlike Alric, he had not proved himself in any way meaningful to Dorne. He was nothing compared to Alric and it did not offend him. It just drove him to work harder and persevere, as he always had.

"Were you planning it?" Oberyn asked and threw the spear aside before he succumbed to the temptation to use it. "When you took advantage of the fact that Elia was into her cups? You would have gotten along marvelously with Davel Vaith!"

Arthur might have been in the Tower of Joy in the time of _this_ scandal but even he had heard of it. He immediately realized what Oberyn hinted at. His face went white. "Do not compare me to him," he hissed.

Grimly delighted, Oberyn enjoyed the fact that he had stricken a nerve. "Why?" he asked. "What makes you better?"

Arthur's hand went to his scabbard that he didn't wear. Oberyn snickered. "Killing your bride-to-be's brother isn't the best start of your marriage, isn't it?" he mocked. "You know, you really should give me a tour through this Tower of Joy, as Rhaegar called it. One day, I'll have to take the babe there and tell it the entire lovely story. I'm sure it'll be delighted to hear how its father stood guard at its mother's humiliation."

This time, Arthur's blood truly boiled. He would suffer Oberyn no longer. "Take that back," he growled.

"Did I offend you?" Oberyn asked innocently and swiftly ducked away to avoid the fist Arthur aimed in his direction.

They grabbed each other and tumbled on the floor in a furious flurry of punches and kicks. All the despair, hatred, betrayal, blame, and guilt came out in bruises and blood, grunts and hitched breathing that should have let them both exhausted, had they not been carried away on the wings of battle exhilaration.

The small armoury was indeed too small to contain two men with red faces and red fury. They wrestled and slid, and rolled over, bumping into bows and making cupboards rattle until a woman's scream pierced the air, "Stop them! Elvar, do something!"

"If you let go off me, I'll go and hold this squirt tight until Oberyn makes a short work of his face."

But for all his sentiments, Elvar Sand could say that the things between his brother and his future goodbrother were progressing fast, in direction that was anything but desirable, so he stepped in, determinedly, and separated them, taking a few punches in his own ruined face in the process.

"Stop it, both of you!" he ordered. "I don't care how you do it, but tomorrow, I want you both at the wedding on your own two feet."

His apprehension was not unjustified. At the moment, they both looked as if they might miss the wedding, so battered they were.

* * *

Arthur and Elia were wed the next day, in the bright sunlight of the late morning, in the sept Prince Mort Martell had built to praise the gods for relieving Dorne of the Young Dragon's men. All around, the streets were teeming with excited spectators, for somehow Sunspear had come to know before the bannermen invited did, so people now came, feeling invited if not to the wedding feast, at least to the spectacle of watching their Princess wed.

To Elia's great relief, there was no overt resentment. No one gave her trouble. Sure, here and there in the city people claimed that the traitor who had turned his back to Dorne did not deserve to wed their lady. But mainly, people spoke of his great swordsmanship and his starry sword. If he was good enough for Elia, he was good enough for them, as well. Rumours were already bursting out about their tragic and forbidden love that had finally come into happy fruition. Of course, she could not recognize either Arthur or herself in those romantic versions – but she didn't mind them spreading. Better that than the alternative.

If only her bannermen were this trusting… Sure, their friends had assured her in their support but they were only a limited number of people.

Not one eye was drawn to the mess of yellow and violet that Arthur's face was. Since Oberyn looked no better, it was not hard for everyone to guess what had happened. Elia did not pity either of them – she only hoped they would make it through the ceremony without swaying which they did. At one point, Arthur even looked at her as if he had briefly forgotten their circumstances and had eyes only for her, as if it was the wedding they had once dreamed about. In her gown of orange and black adorned with the Martell sun and spear, Elia looked radiant. No one needed to know how much time painting her face had taken. What mattered was that the evidence of the last sleepless nights was no longer. Now, if she could only fight this nausea…

Her hand was trembling in his and the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her just when they stood before the septon. Arthur was not much better, croaking his way through the vows – it looked like there was some damage to his vocal chords. All of a sudden, Elia felt like smiling, so smiling she did. "What a pair we make," she murmured in his ear when he gave her a look of surprise.

 _It might even work, this marriage of ours_ , she reasoned out when at the wedding feast, a table collapsed. Everyone's goblets were at their hands for the toasts and the plates had not been served yet, so it was not as disastrous as it would have been, had it happened later. As it was, no one was hurt.

Her wedding to Rhaegar had been truly lavish, everything had been exactly the way it should have – except for the marriage. Her heart ached for Rhaenys who was bravely trying not to show her misery. Naeryn and Daella were taking good care of her, though, and Laval didn't leave her side. At the moment, Elia had to focus on her guests and the feast, and giving everyone the impression that her new marriage was as solid as a rock.

It was almost midnight when the music stopped all of a sudden. Elia gave Arthur a swift look of surprise, knowing that he was the only one beside her who had authority to order the musicians to stop. He held her eye, rose, and raised his voice. "My lady the Princess and I would like to thank you for coming and celebrating our wedding with us. We hope you enjoy the rest of the feast and the dancing that it to follow. But for myself, I would prefer to end the feast with some time alone with my beautiful bride. I am sure you understand."

He turned to Elia and offered her a hand. Without hesitation, she took it and let him lead her off the dais, among the rows of staring, gaping people. Only when they were already out of the hall, the chaos broke out.

"You've deprived them from their favourite part," Elia murmured.

Arthur shrugged. "Well, you can go there for that if you like. I've been waiting for twelve years. What are a few more hours compared to that? But I'd rather not have the public bedding part."

A soft shine of gratitude shone in her dark eyes and sparkled like a myriad of stars in the light of the torches in their holders on the wall. He spoke casually but Elia knew the true reason for his behavior. He had wanted to save her the bedding, spare her from exposing her scarred skin to everyone's eye. Suddenly moved, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they made their slow way to their bedchamber where she promptly ran to throw up and he scowled as he took the clothes off his brusied body.

Everything was arranged as a bridal chamber should be – the new linens, the soft candlelight, the bouquets of bright summer flowers that Elia normally loved and Arthur rushed to throw away before she returned. He had spent her earlier two pregnancies at her side and knew that flowers made her sick as nothing else when she was with child…

She came back from the privy, ashen and with trembling legs. He had just finished undressing and she assessed the damages. There were four spots on him that looked unscathed.

"Oberyn?" she asked and he nodded.

"You should see him," he felt obliged to say.

There was a sparkle dancing in Elia's eye and she replied with mock horror, "No, please, I beg you…"

He burst out laughing, although it hurt, went to the flagon of wine and the two goblets set out on a table and filled one goblet for her because she looked as if she would be sick again. She drank to settle her stomach and only when the wine did that, they both realized that they had just missed the chance to have their first intimate wedding toast.

"Help me with the gown," Elia said.

He did and she was pleased when she felt how his fingers shook. It delighted her that he wanted her. Rhaegar had never… no, she would not think of him now. Tonight, it was her and Arthur, and that thin thread of hope making its way through her heart.

She still couldn't bring herself to trust him. But today, they had exchanged vows. They were now tied to each other for life – and despite everything, the thought of this stirred a deep elation that pushed away every reason, every fear. Arthur was closer to her than Rhaegar ever had been, more handsome and much more desired. And he was stroking her back and the scar under her breast so tenderly…

He took her in his arms and carried her to bed. Vaguely, Elia remembered something Naeryn had told her many years ago, when _she_ had been the one sharing Arthur's bed. _He's like a snake_ , she had confided. _He's warm when I am cold, and he's cool when I am hot._ It's as if I have my personal blanket or fan. Now, he was warm to Elia's cold, making her warm, too.

Maybe he'll be a suitable spouse for a snake, Elia thought as he lowered his head and drew his lips along the scales of her scar.


	22. First Reactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who took the time to comment.

Five days.

Her mother and Ser Arthur hadn't left her – _their_ chambers for five days. For now. Each time Rhaenys insisted that she wanted to see her mother, she was refused – softly but squarely. "Newlyweds need some time for themselves," her grandfather, Naeryn, Alynna explained and then found something new for her to do – something nice that would indeed please her but not for long. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Would her mother forget about her, focusing on Ser Arthur and the new babe? Oh, everyone thought that they were so smart, that Rhaenys didn't know. But she had ears – two of them – and what was more important, she knew when and how to listen. Her mother had gotten with child. That was the reason she had wed Ser Arthur. And if she had let him got her with child, that meant that she loved him, didn't it? No matter that she had tried to lie.

"Why so sad?"

The voice startled her. She turned round and found herself face to face with an older girl, not quite a woman but no longer a child. A braid of lustrous black hair fell on her back. She was slim and graceful in her red tunic, her skin smooth and swarthy, a shade lighter than Rhaenys' own. She was everything Rhaenys hoped to be at her age.

"I am not sad, Lady Nym."

The second oldest Sand Snake huffed, irritated. "I appreciate the effort to lie but you're terrible at it. What on earth is your septa teaching you? You have many lessons to catch up on."

Even in the hot afternoon, there was no sweat on her forehead and Rhaenys envied her for that.

"I'd say this is something between my mother and me," she snapped.

To her irritation and embarrassment, the older girl only laughed. "Ah, so there is something of Dorne in you. Good to see." She paused. "And I suppose Grandfather was right. He said you were sulking because of Aunt Elia's wedding."

Rhaenys' cheeks burned. "I am not sulking!"

Lady Nym's lips curled in a knowing smile that Rhaenys found even more disturbing because the two girls barely knew each other – the six years between them were a huge gap.

"Aren't you?" Lady Nym sighed. "Don't be silly. Ser Arthur is Ser Arthur. You are you. He won't take anything from you. Think a little. If this was true, my father should have abandoned the four of us as soon as he met Ellaria."

Now, Rhaenys' embarrassment turned to sheer humiliation. Did everyone know? Did they think her a stupid child like this older, worldly girl did?

In the far end of the flagged yard, maids started opening the shudders of the large building meant to house noble guests. Rhaenys stared at the windows, waiting to see whether there would be clouds of dust erupting from the inside – a sign that the maids had been neglecting their duties and not sweeping the floors and dusted the rooms as often as they should have. She wondered why they had chosen this hot time of the day to work but they probably knew better. What did she know about the way maids organized their work anyway?

"Do you want me to teach you how to throw knives?" Lady Nym asked.

Under every other set of circumstances, Rhaenys would have accepted the offer gladly. Blades entranced her almost as much as this older, refined cousin. But she was old enough to know pity – and that, she could never accept. "Go over there and cheer the poor child up, she's been sulking for days," she could almost hear her grandfather saying.

"No, thanks," she said coolly. "I have some other things to occupy my time with."

Lady Nym arched a thin black eyebrow. "Yes, of course," she said. "Being a crybaby is so much more interesting."

That was it. Rhaenys had finally had too much. "I am not a crybaby!" Her indigo eyes shone belligerently.

"Aren't you?" Lady Nym asked. "Why, then, are you sitting here, being all miserable that your mother has finally found someone to love her? Why do you begrudge her that and blame her when it's your father who the fault lies with? You know, if you need to be angry with someone, be angry with him and no one else."

Only the thought of how inappropriate such a behavior would be for a princess stopped Rhaenys from lunging at her cousin. Deep inside, a ball of fear started forming. She had heard similar whispers among her mother's attendants even at King's Landing. It looked to her that there was no Dornishman or woman who didn't hate her father. Even the Master of Ships were always polite but reserved. But no one had spoken so brazenly in her presence. Usually, when they saw she was near, they fell silent or changed the subject, as if they thought they could deceive her.

"This isn't true!" she cried out, trying to chase away those memories, her father's constant attempts at seeking closeness again and her mother's icy, polite dismissal. Rhaegar had never tried to retaliate, though. He might have been feeling… guilty.

Lady Nym laughed. "Isn't it? Funny how everyone thinks so. Grandfather. My father. Your mother. And I am tired of everyone dancing around the matter, letting you blame the wrong person. I don't think a little dose of truth is going to kill you. The truth, my little sulky cousin, is that your father placed Lyanna Stark highly above you, your mother and brother. He left you in the hands of a mad king while Aunt Elia could not yet rise from her birthing bed and then had the audacity to bring his bauble here, in Dorne, where they idled the war they caused away. Meanwhile, our kin was dying. While you were in mortal danger, they were swiving without giving the three of you a thought. Actually, he meant to chase you away to Dragonstone so his precious Lyanna wouldn't be bothered by facing you."

Rhaenys paled. "You are lying!"

"I am not." Now, the other girl's laughter had turned into a cold smile. All of a sudden, Rhaenys was reminded of the snakes Nym derived her name from. "I heard your mother saying this to Aunt Alynna. She was furious. He was planning to get rid of you. And then word came that the war had erupted. I don't blame your mother for wanting nothing to do with him anymore. So, my dear little Rhaenys, if you have to blame someone, blame the right people. And if you harbour any hopes of things being as they used to be, forget it. Your mother has started anew. There's no way that she's returning to your father. It's up to you whether…"

"Nym," a voice interrupted. "Let her be."

Through a sheen of tears, Rhaenys saw Laval only a few steps away. He was dripping sweat, his hair was tousled, his bow slung across his back. He was glaring at Lady Nym, although he would have looked more intimidating if he hadn't needed to tilt his head back to the end to achieve it. Their cousin towered two full heads over him.

Lady Nym pursed her lips. "Oh. I must have missed the moment where you proclaimed yourself Rhaenys' defender. But there is no need of that, Laval. The little one can hold her own, I think. She does have claws. She just chooses not to utilize them."

"Let her be," he repeated. "She isn't to blame for anything. What are you doing here, anyway?"

She sighed and swiped at a mosquito on her arm. Since her arrival here, Rhaenys had encountered more mosquitos than in her entire life before. She was inclined to start smearing vinegar all over herself just to chase them away. They were the only creatures that didn't get exhausted by the heat, it seemed.

"Trying to offer some entertainment to our cousin," Lady Nym snapped. "Looks like I could have saved myself the effort. She prefers moping and drowning in her misery."

She turned around and left without much hurry. Laval sighed and seeing that Rhaenys had taken the only stone seat around, plopped himself on the flagstones without thinking twice.

"Don't mind her," he said. "Lady Nym is quite impatient and prone to outbursts but she rarely means bad."

"She _did_ mean bad to me," Rhaenys sniffed. Without much hesitation, Laval tore a stripe of the lower front of his shirt and offered it. She blew her nose in the sweaty fabric.

Laval shook his head. "I think she just misses Arianne," he said. "They were inseparable – Nym, her sisters, and Arianne."

Rhaenys didn't ask him whether he would also prefer that Arianne were here instead of her. Sure, he mostly spoke of Quentyn and Arianne had been a good few years older, so it wasn't very likely. But still, she didn't dare.

"She said some… terrible things about my father," she murmured.

"And also truthful," Laval said after a brief hesitation.

Rhaenys bit back a sob. From Laval's mouth, it did not sound as angrily as it had from Nymeria's. "Were they?" she asked.

He nodded without hesitation. "He did everything she said he did. Hey, don't start crying again," he added and there was a slight panic in his voice.

Despite herself, Rhaenys grinned. She had heard her mother's ladies often say that men could abide anything _but_ a woman's tears. Suddenly, she felt very grown up.

"It isn't this bad, you know," he said after a pause. "In fact, I envy you for that."

She blinked. "What do you envy me for? If my father did those things…"

"He did, Rhaenys," he said. "And now you _know_ what it was that he did. I am not so lucky," he added in an undertone.

Rhaenys' confusion grew. Until now, she had never given Laval's parents much thought. She had accepted that they lived somewhere away from Sunspear and in truth, he had never said anything to the contrary. But now she realized that they hadn't come even for her mother's ceremony of ascension, let alone her wedding.

"My father committed a horrible crime," Laval said. "And I don't know what it is. No one would tell me. When I ask, they pretend they can't hear a thing."

Rhaenys' curiosity was now stirred. She gave him a look of confusion. "But if you don't know what he did," she said, "then how do you know it was so horrible?"

"Because of the punishment," the boy explained simply. "He was ostracized from Dorne and the family."

Rhaenys shuddered, the sunlight suddenly not enough to warm her up. She had never known someone who had been ostracized but she knew what it meant. No one ever said Laval's father's name. All portraits of him had been destroyed. To Dorne, he was in effect dead. If he dared to return, every Dornishman and woman was free to kill him without punishment. Ostracizing was the hardest punishment save for death warrant. Her father even thought that it might be harder. The thought that Laval's father had done something truly terrible was frightening… and thrilling.

"I want to know," the boy went on. "But no one would tell me. And you know, Lady Nym is right about the other thing, too. Try as I might, I cannot understand why you're so miserable. A new husband or not, at least your mother is here and she's taking care of you. Mine preferred killing herself to taking care of me. Not that they want me to know that either. I think they still believe I have no idea."

Rhaenys' breath caught in her throat. She could only stare at him terrified. He stared back, his usually serene, lively face nothing but. "Did she?" she finally whispered.

He nodded curtly. "That's the chamber she died in," he said, pointing.

Rhaenys didn't quite see which chamber he meant. One of the many windows lining the red wall. The thought that she might have entered it without knowing made her shudder.

"Listen," she suddenly said. "Does your offer to accompany you for your lesson with Uncle Oberyn still stand?"

He didn't understand at once. There had been four days since he had offered to take her along while Oberyn taught him to tell poisonous snakes from non-poisonous. But then, he smiled, if only a little. "It is," he said. "In fact, we're leaving in less than an hour. Do you think you'll be ready?"

She gave him a look of indignation and rubbed her eyes to chase the last tears from her eyes. He was right, the situation could have been far worse. No matter what, she knew her father loved her. And she still had a mother, even if she had to share her with Ser Arthur.

"Of course I will be."

* * *

"That makes two out of three," Elia murmured, sipping tentatively from her cup of tea. Arthur knew not what the red liquid was, only that it was one of the things she had taken regularly in her past pregnancies, when she had been hard pressed to keep her food down. It was one of the few things that agreed with her.

Arthur wanted to ask her what she meant but thought better of it. He'd better let her have that tea before retching overcame her once again. She was so sick most of the time that they didn't have the chance to have half the intimate celebration he would like. _Of course, my state might have something to do with it as well_ , he thought and looked down at himself. The purple bruises that according to Elia complimented his eyes had darkened to black and yellow. _I now know how flour feels when it's being grinded._

Over the edge of her yellow cup, Elia was looking at him with a peculiar expression. "What is it?" he asked, returning to bed with the extra pillow she had asked for.

"You look like you only needed two or three more of those to miss the wedding altogether," she said. "I am surprised that Oberyn could act so calculating – giving you pain enough but not too much, so you could say the words."

"Don't give him this much credit," he snorted. "That was all Elvar's doing."

She nodded, satisfied now that she had her answer, and focused on the tea again. "Do you want some?" she asked and he accepted, drinking from the very spot her lips had touched. She smiled.

"Tomorrow, we have to go out," she said, reluctantly. Despite all the inconveniences the child gave her, despite all the fears she held, she had enjoyed being apart from the world. With Arthur. There was even a certain charm to alternate being sick in the privy with being taken in her wedding bed. In truth, they should have faced the world a good deal earlier. But they hadn't wanted to.

Arthur returned the cup and she drank the rest of the liquid, then rose to make a few steps around. She hadn't moved from the bed for more than an hour.

"What are those three?" he asked.

"What?" Elia asked, quite forgotten about this.

"The two out of three."

"Oh, this," she remembered.

They had thrown the windows wide open to catch the twilight cooling of the air. Bathed in the violet shades of the sun headed for its rest, Elia looked utterly content.

"Ten years ago, my grandmother told me that a man has to pleasure me here, here and here," she said, pointing at her forehead, heart, and the place between her legs. "And then, I'd know happiness. You achieved two of those."

Had it been another woman, Arthur might have wondered how he should accept this backhanded compliment. Since it was Elia, he thought it was about time that she voiced some of the doubts he knew still gnawed at her. Knowing that her head was a part of her that didn't accept him wholeheartedly stung but not as much as it would have only a few days ago. And her distrust no longer made him feel devoid of hope. As it often happened, his mind went back to the memory Alric had showed him so pointedly. Now, he thought that should Mikkel start training him once again and a similar problem arose, Mikkel would have removed the element. But then, he had wanted to give Arthur piercing capacity and teaching someone to fight by the way of retreating was quite a precarious thing. Lord Gargalen had seen something in his young squire, something that had made him think that Arthur could take the pressure without breaking. Constantly failing at one move that Mikkel wouldn't remove from his practice, losing combats and tournaments because of it, thinking that today would be another day when he'd be unable to succeed, that all he would achieve was a dizzy head and rebellious stomach had been hard. But had he thought for a moment that he would fail at the end, no matter when the end came?

No. Over and over, he had just taken himself off the ground, waited for the world to spin back in focus and started again.

* * *

Rhaella had moved to the hearth, now empty, examining the little figurines in all colours. It might not be fair of her but she had always admired the artisans who made such fine things more than she did the architects construing the impressive buildings that left the smallfolk awed. She thought that had she not been Queen, she would have loved to be such an artisan, master the art of capturing beauty in such small objects. The winged horse she now held was no bigger than her palm, yet every hair of its mane gleamed on its own – some in red, others in gold, third ones in dark brown. _Sunset_ , that was the name Aerys had given it more than twenty years ago. To her, the horse would always represent the flight towards freedom, with its wings widely spread and all the hues of the dying sun over its glossy hide.

"Are you sure in your decision?"

She turned back and shook her head exasperatedly. "Yes, of course. I've already told you, Rhaegar, I'll be only too happy to leave court. I think a few years away will do Daenerys some good, as well."

"Is it really because you want to?" Rhaegar asked. "Or do you think Aegon could not deal without you there? I really don't want you to feed obliged into anything."

Rhaella's breath hissed between her teeth. "Of course I think Aegon could deal without me there," she said. "And of course I feel obliged to go there. I would have suggested it even if I didn't want to. But of course, obligations to Aegon are hardly something you understand," she added coldly.

Immediately, she saw that she had struck a nerve. For a moment, she panicked, reminded of all the times she had roused Aerys' anger. Then, common sense came back. Whatever her son's faults, cruel he was not.

"This isn't fair, Mother," he said. "I am doing this _for_ Aegon."

She left the horse back in place. "And will he still be Aegon when he returns?" she asked.

Since that was a question Rhaegar had been asking himself helplessly, he couldn't force himself to snap an angry retort. He loved going to Dragonstone but he was incredibly grateful that he hadn't grown up there, in its desolation and gloom. For Aegon who was not melancholic and bookish but cheerful and lively, it would be even harder. The knowledge of the grave mistake he had made, the thought that he was tormenting his child for the sake of his kingdom and prophecy made his hands clench in fists. But there was nothing that could be done. In his quest for a daughter, he had never considered the chance that a future rival of Aegon's could be born. Now, he had the rival… and no daughter in near future. The maesters couldn't determine what the problem was. Theoretically, Lyanna should have conceived a few times by now. In fact, it wasn't happening. He had lost Rhaenys over nothing – he now only had this looming absence that no Lyanna, no prophecy and certainly no Jon could ever fill. And now he had to send Aegon away to secure his future, risking a change and unhappiness for his son.

"That's what I fear most," he admitted.

For a moment, Rhaella's features softened. She almost reached out for another figurine, a dragon holding a flower between its teeth. This was the one Rhaegar had been most fascinated with as he had been growing up. She wished to ask whether he remembered all the times the precious work had needed saving from his eager, but clumsy little hands. But common sense won over. There was no use building a bridge that would not hold. In the aftermath of his elopement, they had drifted apart. Rhaella simply couldn't believe his stupidity. She had taught him better – or so she had thought. At the end, she had found herself face to face with a stranger who had committed the greatest sin against her beliefs – he had twisted his duty to line it with his own selfish desires. And he had struck a blow at her heart, as well. She would never forget the day she had received the news of the fire in the Red Keep. The two weeks until she got word that her grandchildren and goodaughter were alive were something that she would not wish upon her worst foe. And all for the sake of a girl who did not know how to be Queen. Actually, she did not know how to be a lady either. But maybe she would have, one day, had Rhaegar not happened on her way. Still, Rhaella did not have much sympathy to spare for Lyanna Stark. She had been younger than the girl at the time of her absconding away with Rhaella's _wedded_ son when she had done her duty.

"That's why I'll be happy to accompany him there," she said. "The castle would crush Aegon but with Daenerys around… Between the two of them, they might even make it a festive place."

Rhaegar laughed out loud, pleased as ever to see his mother's vivid imagination and sense of humour poking their head. There was no power in Westeros that could make Dragonstone a festive place.

Yes, she was right. In fact, he was secretly relieved that she did not want to leave Aegon on his own. But he would miss her, as distant as she had become. The fact that Lyanna was visibly relieved by her goodmother's decision was no help, either. He understood her feelings – it was hard to like someone who disapproved of you – but couldn't she save it for herself? She knew he would miss his mother. Of course, that might well be the reason she was doing it… After their quarrel over the unfortunate fate of her Northern guards, she had turned against him and their life together even more vehemently.

As if summoned by his thoughts, she appeared in the doorway. His brief hope that she might have come over for a reconciliation disappeared when he saw the stooped figure behind her. Maester Arnault. Behind him came Ser Jaime.

"I encountered the maester in the yard," she said. "He said there were urgent news…"

Rhaegar went over to the man while Lyanna entered fully and looked at Rhaella. Rhaegar heard them exchanging formalities but didn't paid them much attention, focused on the letter.

Rhaella frowned. "Rhaegar? What's going on?"

Lyanna turned round and drew back, surprised by the sudden whitening of his jaw, the pallor of his face and the glazed eyes that kept going over the words but clearly no longer saw them. Ser Jaime made a step forward, then drew back, unsure of what to do.

Finally, Maester Arnault was the one who told them. Looking down, he mumbled, "Princess Elia and Ser Arthur Dayne were wed in Sunspear three weeks ago."

 _No wonder Pycelle didn't dare show his face here with the news_ , Rhaella thought as Lyanna exclaimed, "I don't believe it! Ser Arthur? I thought this white had sapped all that was manful about him."

Rhaella briefly wondered what by the Seven was she doing. Could she really leave this girl to be the principal lady at court without anyone to smooth things over? Sure, Lyanna's expression immediately showed that she had realized her mistake even before looking at Ser Jaime's clenched jaw. But that was not enough. At her age and after four years at court she should have been able to stop before saying it.

"Not all, it seems," Rhaegar said in a hollow voice. "They write that a rumour has spread that Elia is with child."

Rhaella glanced away from him, to Lyanna, and was quite taken aback at the joy written all over the girl's face. Until now, she hadn't realized how heavily Lyanna's unforgivable offense against Elia had haunted her. Something told her that the young woman hadn't known either.

Rhaegar, though, was all but joyful. "This is a mistake," he said in a faint voice. "I know it is. Arthur would not do this to me."

"You?" Lyanna exclaimed. "Why do you think it was about you? Can he not just love her and want to wed her without thinking of you – who are already wed? To me, remember?"

"No, he cannot! I trusted him… and all this time, he has been planning… No. It cannot be."

"I think it can," Lyanna murmured. A night from years ago came back to her, so alive that her breath caught. She had been standing on the top of the tower, staring at the Red Mountain, never more beautiful than when the sun gave them a final caress. Ser Arthur had been standing next to her, looking longingly over the treetops to where she knew Starfall lay. At the time, they had still been warm to each other – not friendly but warm nonetheless.

"Was there a girl when you were my age," she had asked, laughing.

"There was," he had replied. "Her name was Naeryn. She was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. But life was very unfair to her."

"And after?" she had insisted. "Had there not been someone else before you took the white?"

"There was. Someone who was impossible for me to have."

Now, it all made sense – Ser Arthur's constant striving to be the first one to do Elia a small service, his constant readiness to accompany her even when he wasn't on shift. How he had watched her when she hadn't been looking at him. Lyanna saw no reason for Ser Arthur to think of Rhaegar now, when Elia was no longer the King's wife.

"It can't be," Rhaegar said again, loudly this time. "They could not have… She can't be…"

Without warning, he slammed his fist against the table. His knuckles started bleeding but he didn't notice. Elia _was_ able to do this to him. She cared about Dorne more than she did about him. Taking a new husband in a hurry would save her from choosing between suitors whom she could not afford to anger. And she had never forgiven him about Lyanna. She must have known that taking Arthur to husband – Arthur, of all people! – would deal him the greatest wound.

And Arthur? Arthur, the liar? Arthur, the betrayer? Rhaegar remembered only too well how he had offered – offered! – to release him from his oaths. He had played straight into their hands. The letter also mentioned that Alric looked very happy with his new goodson – and he would not be happy with a decent man! No, Elia's father could only welcome a snake like himself with open arms…

He could imagine them ever so vividly, Elia's long dark hair that she wore loose in the privacy of her chamber falling over Arthur's bare chest, her eyes shining with emotion that Rhaegar had never seen, yet knew only too well. There it was… the first feast she had attended after Rhaenys' birth. Afterwards, she had danced with Rhaegar, the Master of Laws and Arthur – something that almost never happened, Rhaegar now realized. In fact, Arthur had used to only invite her when he absolutely had to, as to avoid rumours of some dislike between them. Remembering Elia's expression for a brief, unguarded moment, the half-closed eyes, the slight curve of her lips, Rhaegar finally realized that this reluctance had been hiding something entirely else altogether. Never, ever had he seen again this expression of a happiness that was so sharp that it almost hurt!

"You whore," he whispered with anger and hurt. She had been in love with Arthur all this time.

Were they laughing now, lying in bed and caressing each other, complimenting each other of how they had made a fool of him? Were they making plans about the future of the daughter they were sure they were going to have?

The daughter…

All of a sudden, Rhaegar crossed the solar and swept his mother's precious figurines with a single wave of his hand. The sound of breaking glass made him feel grim satisfaction.

"It looks like my former wife did not have such trouble conceiving as I believed," he said, his voice cold and controlled. His icy eyes turned to the scared maester. "Call the Grand Maester here. _Immediately_."


	23. Degrading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who commented!

Finding the Grand Maester proved astonishingly difficult. He wasn't in his chambers. He wasn't in the hall the Small Council held their meetings at. He wasn't anywhere in the Red Keep, at least anywhere they looked for him which meant the whole castle. Rhaegar's impatience grew; walking him pace around, fists clenched, muttering threats of ugly retribution to his deceitful former Queen and the friend who had made a fool of him, Rhaella was reminded, terribly and inevitably, of Aerys in his late years. Despite telling herself that it was just a reaction of his disappointment and genuine hurt and not something he would truly believe in a few years… certainly nothing that he would follow through… the fear kept trickling in her blood, slowly and relentlessly.

Lyanna had leaned over to see whether some of the figurines could still be saved but they were beyond salvaging. She now sat on the settee, staring at Rhaegar, seemingly unable to believe that this enraged man who had shattered his mother's treasured collection was the same gentle prince who had whispered whatever nonsense he had enchanted her with. She looked petrified. From time to time, Rhaella wondered what made her stay here. For herself, she knew that she was not about to run away from her own chambers just because her son was having a bad day. She had done that with his father for more years than she cared to count. Never again. But she had to bite back a smile more than once. She was so happy for Elia who had known little happiness after she arrived at King's Landing as Rhaegar's betrothed and for the last years, she had known none. Rhaella did not doubt that the girl's new marriage was a love match. She had seen the way Elia and Arthur had looked at each other since her arrival and for a while, she had feared what kind of woman her goodaughter might turn out to be. But this concern had soon dissolved.

The Grand Maester arrived when it was almost time for the evening feast, small and frail under the weight of his years and chain. Rhaella remembered him this way since she had been a girl in her grandfather's court, though, so his appearance of tired dignity rose very little respect in her and no pity at all.

The slight quiver of his jaw was barely noticeable in his waterfall of white beard but Rhaella caught it. So Rhaegar was right, she thought and wondered just how much grief could have been avoided if the man hadn't lied.

Pycelle bowed. "You have called for me, Your Grace."

Rhaegar whirled about and fixed him with a stony stare. "For someone as old and feeble as you claim to be, you were remarkably far away from where you were expected to be, leaving in mere minutes after the letter came. One might think that you were hiding."

"Hidind, Your Grace?" Pycelle squeaked.

"From the news that just arrived," Rhaegar elaborated. "And what they mean to you."

There was a long silence. Pycelle looked from Rhaegar to Rhaella, then Lyanna, and then Rhaegar again. None of them showed any inclination to help him out. He was left to his own devices to try and find out what Rhaegar might mean – and they were getting him nowhere. "What do you mean, Your Grace?" he asked, at last.

"I mean the news of Princess Elia being with child," the King said. "A rumour that might soon turn out to be true."

Pycelle swallowed and his eyes darted around, as if he was trying to find an escape route. This sealed the truth for Rhaegar. The man was hiding something – and there was only one thing that he could possibly hide.

"When Aegon was born, you told me that my princess would never give birth to another child," Rhaegar helped him. "Turned out, she probably will in less than a year."

Pycelle looked down. "I – I thought-"

"You were not supposed to think," Rhaegar cut him off. "Your duty was to tell me the truth about the situation. And it looks like you didn't do it."

Pycelle starting tugging at his beard. "Your Grace, I – I-"

"Yes?" Rhaegar asked and his carefully controlled voice turned deadly. "Look, we both know it was just talk. Only, it wasn't. Do you realize that lying about the health of the Princess of Dragonstone is treason? Do you?"

Now, Pycelle's shaking was becoming uncontrollable. "I was bound to tell the truth as I saw it, Your Grace, without giving false hopes…"

"But giving some other people hopes," Rhaegar spat. "Who ordered you to lie to me, old man? I'd rather let you keep your tongue but I won't if the next word coming out of your mouth is anything resembling a lie. Who wanted me to believe that Elia would never be able to give me another child?"

If Pycelle tugged at his beard just a little harder, he would just take it down, like the mummers on mummer shows did. At this moment, his eyes wintry, his fists clenched, surrounded by disarray that he had created himself, Rhaegar looked very much like Aerys – but the fear Pycelle felt from the man giving him the order seemed to be stronger. Still, he didn't utter a lie. In fact, he didn't even utter a word, perhaps out of fear that Rhaegar would deliver on his promise. He only shook his head mutely.

"Was it Tywin Lannister?" Rhaegar asked sharply.

The shaking of the white head became frantic.

"Of course it was," Rhaella said coldly. "He wanted you to take his daughter for your wife. And he never forgave the insult of us choosing Elia. I have no doubt that he felt it was the second time Alric got something he himself had been striving for – and it just fell down straight in Alric's lap."

Pycelle's horrified expression made her smile grimly. "What, Grand Maester? You think I have forgotten? Or maybe that I even didn't know? Have you forgotten that Joanna Lannister was one of my ladies? And even something of a friend? I saw everything, Pycelle. She was smitten with Alric Gargalen the moment she arrived at King's Landing to serve me, before Summerhall, and showed it pretty blatantly. He wasn't interested in her and Arianne found the entire thing very amusing, claiming that Joanna had a great taste. That was about it – Arianne warned her off, saying that Alric would never touch a friend of hers with a ten-foot pole anyway but if Joanna tried something, she'd kill her personally. That was about it. The three of them got over it pretty fast – but Tywin never did. He was born old, this one. And he enjoyed rebuffing Arianne years later. He would never let her and Alric have the last word, would he? Would he?"

Pycelle's mouth opened and closed but once again, no sound came out. The horror in his eyes was proof enough. Rhaegar could already see Lord Tywin's line of reasoning – with some delicate pushing in the right direction, with a carefully seasoned meal from time to time – nothing that would actually kill Aegon since that would prompt a real investigation and looks in a certain directions but sicken him to remind Rhaegar that children were mortal – Rhaegar would have been forced to look around for a new wife, sending his old one away or… mourning her because her death would not have been such a great surprise. And who would be better suited than Tywin's own daughter, the most beautiful girl in the world as she had been described? Rhaegar would have never taken Cersei Lannister to wife – there was something in her eyes that unsettled him more than he could explain – but her father didn't know that. And here they were, in the aftermath of a war he had caused because he had been caught in the schemes of a man with no honour, a man who only cared about his own advancement and satisfying his own grudges. The notion that he had been outsmarted by Tywin Lannister was almost overwhelming.

"I was saying what I presumed was the truth," Pycelle finally gathered the courage to murmur. "I didn't want to give any false hopes…"

The realization that despite everything, the Grand Maester's fear of Lord Tywin was greater than his fear of his King did nothing to soothe Rhaegar's anger but instead, curdled it in fury cold as ice. A smile tugged at his lips. "And yet the Princess conceived soon enough into her new marriage. That means that your knowledge is grossly lacking. I cannot possibly keep you as my Grand Maester under this circumstances. But I cannot burden another castle with your lack of knowledge either," he added.

His voice became a soft purr. "You are going to leave for Oldtown this very night. I will provide you with a ship, so you won't be inconvenienced to look for one. You will return to the Citadel and undergo at least three years of training upon the end of which you will be tested to see whether you have gained the requisite skills to undertake a maester's duties once again.

Pycelle lurched backward. The King quickly reached over and steadied him before he hit his skull at the edge of the marble table. But he did not let him go. Instead, his hands shot upward and took the many maester chains over Pycelle's head.

The Grand Maester let out a cry, as if Rhaegar was disemboweling him.

The King leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Tell him whom you truly serve that I shall not suffer treachery and disloyalty in our midst," he hissed. "Tell him word by word. Or not tell him anything at all. He will get the message soon enough when word spreads out that your office has been vacated."

"Rhaegar," Rhaella cut in. "Please. I like this no better than you do. But this might mean inviting danger. You cannot condemn the Grand Maester just…"

Rhaegar rose in his full height and gave his mother a level look. "It isn't the Grand Maester that I condemn. It is my subject Pycelle who has unlawfully adorned himself with the chains of a Grand Maester if he has tainted himself with incompetence or worse, treason against the heir of the throne and his princess. And I am ready to defend my decision to everyone who dares ask."

Rhaella did not think it would be so easy. But maybe he was right. The rumours about the former queen's barenness had been spreading for years. It would reflect grievously upon Pycelle's reputation if she had, indeed, gotten with child, proving that Pycelle was incompetent at least in one of his main duties – preserving the continuation and health of the royal line. The Conclave might, in fact, even lose face for advancing such an incompetent Grand Maester. Rhaegar might get away with it. Pity he didn't think of checking Pycelle's true loyalties around the time Aegon was born, she thought and did not insist anymore.

Without his chains, Pycelle didn't look nearly that impressive. There was horror in his eyes and he didn't even notice the drool trickling from his gaping mouth. For first time, Rhaella indeed saw him as the feeble old man he was trying to impersonate. Once again, she found no pity in her heart.

"Ser Gerold!" Rhaegar called out. "Take Pycelle," he ordered when the Lord Commander entered. "Accompany him to his chambers and watch him as he makes ready to depart. He's allowed to take only his books and clothes. Nothing else. In a few hours, he leaves for the Citadel to train as maester."

As astounding as this order was, Ser Gerold didn't move a muscle on his face. Nothing could startle the man who had watched – and committed! – some of Aerys' most heinous acts. He only bowed and steered Pycelle out of the room.

"That's a worm less," Rhaegar spat. "Now, we can think of those in Dorne. Elia will be summoned to King's Landing to answer to me why she wed in such a hurry when one of the terms of our annulment was that she consults me, her King, of her choice of husband."

Rhaella sighed. "And how are you going to explain it? She didn't actually agree to heed your advice in all circumstances. And if you think she'll just come here to answer your charges… of disobedience, I suppose?... you don't know her at all. Short of a war, you cannot bring her here as defendant."

Rhaegar's eyes glinted. "Can't I? Another child was never in the plans we discussed. How am I to know that Arthur won't try to throw Rhaenys out of the succession? The way Dornishmen are, they might even prefer his child to Rhaenys since he or she will be more Dornish. And the Seven knows Alric will be only too happy to assist. He cannot stand me but he thawed to Arthur and people say that Arthur's brother was fostered with him. They broke the agreement."

The one in your head, maybe? Rhaella wondered. She now knew what she should do: try and stop Rhaegar from acting foolishly until his anger cooled down and he could see that there was no breaking of agreement and no plans to have Rhaenys disadvantaged. Because he could not see this now but he could inflict great harm that he would later regret.

All this time, Lyanna had not spoken a word. Rhaella had the distinctive feeling that the girl was just doing her best not to ask herself why Elia's supposed barrenness mattered so much. Perhaps she felt that the answer was more than she could bear.

Every morning, Alaenys Targaryen counted the days she still had before leaving for that huge gloomy castle with its gloomy lord. Today, they were seventeen. On the eighteenth, she would head for a new life that scared her, with a man who scared her. Trading the sun of Dorne for the storms of that unrestful kingdom was terrible beyond imagining. And having seen her betrothed, she did not expect that he'd care to help her get used to her new environment. As if that wasn't bad enough, that know-it-all maester would stare at her constantly, trying to determine whether she'd prove his fears right by failing to provide Storm's End with an heir.

She would bring attendants of her own, of course, but she would be away from everyone she loved and everything she knew. She had always known that it would be her fate and that hadn't troubled her unduly; but with the merciless approach of the wedding, all the fears she had held and many others she hadn't even suspected of had encroached on her, making her startle during the day and stay awake at night.

How could she and Stannis Baratheon possibly get along? He was brooding and solitary; she was lively and friendly; he spoke only when needed, she chattered to no end and one had to pay attention to find the important bits in her ramblings. She was careless with her tongue, calling many people her friends, although both she and the others knew that her true friendships were precious few. Stannis only had his Onion Kinght. And of course, the shadows of the past would haunt them. To him, she would probably be Dorne in his house; she would live in constant fear that one day, he might do what his late brother had – doing away with whomever of her family he could get his hands upon.

Duty and the position of the Lady of Storm's End were hardly enough to compensate about such a life. And the bad weather would probably get her sick as soon as she arrived.

"Don't obsess over things that aren't likely to happen," Alynna said when Alaenys admitted her fears to her cousin. "Getting sick, I mean. You are like me. You don't get seriously ill. Worry about the real problems that you're likely to encounter."

Alaenys stirred to make herself more comfortable on the terrace. "I don't remember you being ill either," she agreed. "You were never sick, were you?"

Alynna looked away. "Just once," she murmured. "I spent the entire night in the gardens of Starfall in a light robe. It was after – " And she inclined her head, instead of mentioning Errol's name or death.

Alaenys felt hot shame blooming red upon her face. Of course that would be the time of Alynna's sickness. She shouldn't have asked.

And still, her cousin went on, her eyes turned inwardly, her voice distant. "But not only from cold. I was tired of life and I very much desired to get sick and go to…"

Alaenys' skin crawled. All the things she feared suddenly seemed so minor. Errol Gargalen, long dead, suddenly rose between them, silver-haired and purple-eyed, with that winning smile of his showing that the world was his for the taking, that happiness was within his tightly closed fist. If Alaenys wedding the gloomy Stannis Baratheon might help prevent more people like him from dying, then it would be worth it. Even if he unleashed his storms upon her at the first disagreement between them. As long as this marriage would prevent Rhaegar Targaryen from unleashing his wrath upon Dorne and the Stark girl's son from claiming a throne that wasn't his. This idea of the benefits drawn in such clear terms brought some dark comfort that relieved her fear, if only a tiny bit.


	24. Growing Conflicts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, tons of thanks to everyone who commented.

Lyanna had never had any idea that there were so many royal charities. She sincerely wondered how Queen Alysanne had found the time to do anything else but deal with them! It was already well past noon and her eyes were starting to sting. She had spent hours reading documents that in the beginning had held little meaning to her and now, with the letters blending together, she understood nothing at all.

"Where did these papers come from all of a sudden?" she asked, making sure that she wasn't raising her voice. The woman in front of her was not to blame for her fatigue or the fact that she felt hopelessly stupid. Quite old, with white hair with the peculiar velvety looks showing that once, it must have been as golden as the sun, Septa Erzbet had been running this orphanage for over a decade. It was said that she was of noble birth, a daughter of an influential Vale lord. Each time Lyanna saw her, she wondered why a woman like this would forsake all the world could have given her to spend her life in serving the Seven and tending those in needs. The visits to various asylums and hospitals always left Lyanna upset for days. How could one choose to live among this? It was evident that the septa had been very beautiful when young, so the usual reasons for women to join the Faith were not applicable to her.

Septa Erzbet gave her a look of surprise. The sunlight coming through the window cast her figure in golden halo. She looked ethereal. "They did not come all of a sudden, Your Grace," she said. "It's just that the Queen took care of this part before."

She didn't seem to realize her slip and Lyanna wasn't about to remind her. _The Queen_ , she thought without much bitterness, with hardly any bitterness at all. _Yes, Elia was a queen, be it born or bred. Who am I to take offense that the septa doesn't think of me as queen when I am not one?_

She was already chafing under the burden of her new responsibilities. She had never realized just how much work a queen had to do. Elia had always shouldered the monotonous tasks without complains – at least Lyanna had never heard of her complaining.

But now it was all up to her. Papers waited for her when she woke up in the morning and when she went to bed at night. Suppliants lined up in front of her chambers, so she could not make a step out without being ambushed by someone with an urgent plea. The castellan was always in dire need of her opinion and approval. Most of the time, she simply placed her signature under the parchments he handed her without even knowing the details of what she had approved. Orphanages, asylums, and hospitals revealed a new side that she had not encountered before: they were sharing about problems in the construction of the buildings, discords about how they could serve their institutions best, disappearing of funds… Lyanna had to think over the resolving of such sobering matters when the part she most enjoyed was just spending time with the children and making sure that they were adequately cared for. She was making her first hesitant steps into the specifics of the mechanism that made those charities function – and it was hard.

Her afternoons and evenings were occupied with court affairs, as much as she disliked some of her gossiping ladies. She barely had the time to see Jon anymore. Sometimes, she bolted out to the stables and had the boys prepare her horse, going to a wild ride. The wind in her hair and the feeling of the steady mount beneath her were the only things that could give her some semblance of comfort. Of course, when she returned, she had already missed some of her appointments and had to put up with the Queen Mother's veiled disapproval and Rhaegar's not so veiled one.

But no matter how tired she was and how much she wanted to escape the papers she could not understand at all, this orphanage was not a place she would escape from. Not this one, not any other. Still, when she heard that some repairs were needed, she was suddenly afraid that she'd be the one who would have to find builders and was very relieved to hear that the septa already had a list of people she had worked before in the past. "How much money do you need?" she asked eagerly and signed the payment order without any further questions. Vaguely, she realized that all the people she had been signing such orders in the last few months could be robbing her blind without her knowing it but she couldn't do anything to stop it. Managing one's finances was not something Lord Rickard had thought his daughter needed to know. _Well, he tried to get me interested but he was never as insistent at forcing me to take those lessons as he was at making a lady out of me, so I mostly got away_ , she admitted. Now she wished she hadn't. The thought of her father made her feel grief and shame all over again.

She expected that soon, she'd have yet another clash with the Master of Coin. She now realized very well why Elia had never been enthused to see the man. If it was up to him, not a single coin would leave the treasury to help a charity.

"We'll need more people," Septa Erzbet said. "Some of our maidservants are getting quite old and cannot perform effectively."

Lyanna wondered where she was expected to find competent staff from. Because she could already say that would be expected of her.

To her great disappointment, when they were done with the practical part, it was too late for her to go and see the children, she had to go back to the Red Keep for the reception of the new Tyroshi ambassador.

"What are you doing?" Rhaella hissed under her breath when everyone had finally taken their seats in the throne room.

What had she done now? Lyanna didn't answer, quite sure that she'd be told soon.

"You cannot show up wearing only Essosi fabrics and jewels," Rhaella said. "They're trying to negotiate further discounts right now… The Queen's attire will be taken as a sign pointing at…"

Now, Lyanna understood. One of the little things that for some reason mattered so much. Where had she let herself in for no better reason than love? Was there a place for a Northern woman in this world where everything was codes and ciphers?

"I won't change," she said firmly. She wouldn't give everyone the pleasure of seeing their Queen behave like a scolded child. Undoubtedly, everyone was aware of her mistake and would gloat at seeing her humiliation.

Rhaella looked around quickly without showing that she was doing so. "Of course not," she said. On top of everything else, there was no time for that. And the defiant flash in Lyanna's eyes somehow soothed her irritation. How could she stay angry for long with a child? That was what Lyanna was, despite the fact that she was trying to step into her new part – a child. A defiant, angry child who did not understand. Was that what Rhaegar had been seeking – the mix of defiance and bedazzled adoration that only a child was capable of?

Unfortunately, whatever he had been seeking then, he had grown tired of. Lyanna realized it as soon as he accompanied her to her chambers. Sometimes, that still gave her joy that would evaporate as soon as she woke up alone, with him gone on whatever duties or visions summoned him. Other times, it made her bristle for a fight, like now.

"Where have you been?" he asked as soon as she took off her crown with a sigh of relief. The gold thing was massive, although beautiful to look at, and it gave her a stiff neck each time she wore it. The glint of the seven rubies always reminded her of bleeding stars.

She gave him a level look. "I was at an orphanage that needs some repairs and changes," she said.

"And did you help?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

Lyanna's back straightened. "I did my best," she said coldly, wishing for him to leave. She didn't even want him in her bed, not tonight.

"Meanwhile, there was a last moment problem with the reception. It was a good thing my mother was here. And when she leaves for Dragonstone? What are you going to do? Other than showing disrespect to the work of our own weavers and giving hopes to Essosi to gain an advantage in the reductions they want?"

"Says the man who thought that leaving a madman in charge while he was hiding away with a young girl was such a great idea," Lyanna countered.

He flushed. "That was a grievous mistake that I deeply regret," he snapped.

"Not nearly as much as I do," Lyanna shot back. "If I am not mistaken, it was my family who paid the price for you to have me as your Queen. You really should have taken some pains to learn who you were entangling yourself with. I never sailed under false colours."

"A queen," he said sharply. "I expected a queen. Someone who could do _something_ right."

For some reason, the sight of her fumbling with her necklace in a futile attempt to open it infuriated him. In the light of all the candelabra burning, she looked like a golden statue of a goddess – one at whose feet he had once worshipped.

"Like Elia, you mean?" she snapped, startling him not for the first time with her sharp intuition about his feelings. "Just because she never complained, you think it is so easy…"

He had been trying not to think of Elia, for it made him lose his judgment. Hearing her name from Lyanna's lips felt somehow indecent. They had not thought of her as they had been taken in by each other, optimistically believing that everything would sort itself somehow.

"It might not have been easy on her but she certainly didn't stop her from succeeding. Might be the blood of Rhoynar or the fact that Dorne never bent the knee but Elia was royal and she knew how royalty should go about their duties!"

Finally, Lyanna managed to score a victory against the pearl chains of the necklace, threw the jewel on the nearest table and whirled about, her eyes flashing. "What do you want?" she asked in a voice that she deemed extremely calm. "Once, you told me that you married her out of duty, that this marriage was a chain you simply could not get rid of. Now, you look like someone who quite likes the chains of duty! Why did you take me at all if a dutiful queen was all you wanted? You knew what I was."

"Because I thought she could not give me the one thing that I needed beyond duty!" he snapped. "Yes, I like the chains of duty. Or maybe I am quite used to them, I don't know. But they are part of me – and when I acted out of duty, I never did wrong. It was when I wanted something more when it all failed…"

He saw her stiffen. "What," she asked very softly, "is the thing that she couldn't give you and I could?"

Something about her told him that she already knew the answer. She just wanted a confirmation and he gave it to her. "A third child," he said, the anger suddenly going out of him. "Lyanna, I've loved you since the moment I caught you there, near Harrenhall. But I had my duty. I had a family. And I knew that I needed a third head of the dragon. After Aegon's birth, I thought Elia could not give it to me, so I had to find someone else. I felt it was an answer to my heart's desire. I…"

But she was no longer listening to him. Her face had gone white. "A third head of the dragon!" she screamed. "You mean my father and brother died because you needed a third child for some _prophecy_? That there was a war because you simply felt that you had to _help_ a prophecy?"

The pause before he replied was an answer in itself. "I had to have the third head," he said. "But I could have taken any woman I wanted to fulfill it. I chose you because…"

"Because you loved me?" she mocked.

"Yes!"

Her chambermaids entered, saw them facing each other, and were quick to withdraw.

All of a sudden, Lyanna looked smaller, defeated. "All this time, I thought it was out of love," she whispered. "I thought it had started the moment you gave me that laurel."

"It did."

She shook her head, so overwhelmed that she could not even find anger. "No," she said. "It was over then, wasn't it? I am sure you regretted it later, it was such a scandal… It would have clashed with your duty, wouldn't it?"

The way he looked aside told her that she had hit the mark. It did not surprise her. Perhaps she had known for years. She felt both anger and pity for the girl who had dreamed of the handsome prince for months, clutching that laurel while the Prince himself probably wished he had torn the laurel instead of giving it to her! She had ruined her life and lost her father and brother for a lie, the promise of eternal life that had guided her… but not him, despite his assurances of the contrary.

"Leave," she said coldly, forcing tears back. "Leave before I kill you!"

He gave her a long look. "We'll talk later," he said. "When you're more composed."

She stared at him, not quite believing what she had heard. "Composed?" she echoed. "You think it's a mood? You're mad!"

The anger crossing his face delighted her. Madness was the one topic never discussed in Rhaegar's presence. He made a swift step toward her and she bared her teeth, ready for a fight, relishing the prospect, anticipating the feeling of thorn flesh under her teeth and nails… But to her disappointment, he simply turned back and strode out of the bedchamber.

She sank onto the nearest coffer, unable to think, too numb to feel anything. But when, after a while, her sensations returned, it was to a faint pang in her lower belly. A savage smile came to her lips at the thought that Rhaegar's dream of his prophecy had been upset once again.

* * *

The price for the safe haven that she had found with Arthur was that the impact with the real world hit them more heavily when they left their chambers. Stony-faced, she heard the news that had arrived just last night with the dark sense of foreboding.

"The Vulture King," she echoed. "We have a new Vulture King roaming the Marches once again? Did I get this right?"

Ciar could not blame her for not wanting to believe. The last time this ghost had troubled them had been in the days of Daeron the Good. A good hundred years ago.

Why had the man hiding behind this name decided to strike now? The people around the table looked at each other. The answer was pretty obvious and Doran wouldn't have lost time to discuss the obvious. Yet Elia did, deciding that she needed to have her thoughts confirmed. "Either he thinks I'm too wrapped in my new marriage to take effective measures, or he thinks to pass this as a masked defiance against the Iron Throne on my side now that I've wed Arthur. A way to spite Rhaegar further."

_And spited will he be_ , Ashara would undoubtedly tell her. Elia had started to wonder why there hadn't been any reaction from King's Landing. To her displeasure, Rhaegar's silence could always scare her more than his anger. Not that she was truly afraid but she wanted to know what his answer would be.

But right now, she was more concerned with this Vulture King than she was with her former husband. "He acts around the passes," she went on. "I'd suppose he intends to do something to disrupt Alaenys' journey to Storm's End. And with some good arranging, things might be made to look as if we're playing Stannis Baratheon false."

The silence that followed was heavy with dark foreboding. They might have to deal with a casual opportunist determined to seize the moment after all – but even so, Alaenys Targaryen was a prize everyone desired, be it for ransom or something else. And should she fall into his hands, no amount of witnesses and increasing of the dowry could make the Lord of Storm's End to accept her. Her honour would be soiled beyond repair. And if it was an elaborate attempt to sabotage the relations Elia was trying to cultivate with the Baratheon lord… they might find themselves into an even deeper swamp. It might even be the start of unrest within Dorne itself. The fact that the efforts of the man were focused in the Dornish Marches – the other side of – did not offer any reassurance. That could change in a minute – after alienating the King's bitter repudiated wife from her Westerosi neighbours.

Elia rose from her seat and slowly went to the huge map taking up an entire wall. Her finger slowly slid over the lines marking Dorne. "I will not suffer his impudence," she claimed. "At all. He has to be dealt with before Alaenys leaves. And it's my consort who will do it, not the local lords. I will show the Seven Kingdoms that unrest will not be tolerated."

This was the moment a boy rushed into the council chamber with a letter. Elia held out a hand and her heart made a leap when she recognized the dragon seal.

Rhaegar wanted of her to go to King's Landing and justify herself for this new marriage. Elia shook her head, smiling in a bemused way. He was even more furious than she had imagined. Still, she had no intention to indulge him.

Her eyes went to the map again. She smiled again, shrewdly. At the end, this Vulture King might die without ever knowing what a favour he had done to his Princess and Dorne.

 


	25. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks, and tones of it, to everyone who commented!

"I'll call for some sweets with almond paste…" Larra Blackmont said. "Do you…"

Elia went white and her eyes widened in alarm. "I see," Alynna said. "She doesn't want sweets."

"I felt faint just when I heard it."

"Fine, then," Larra said. "I don't want either. She and I, we're getting along already," she joked. "Alynna, why are you so sure it's a girl?"

Elia and Alynna looked at each other. _Why not_ , Elia thought. Larra was Alynna's friend, Elvar's wife. And the truth of the prophecy no longer mattered.

"Because the King wants a girl," she said. "He wanted a second daughter by me or his current queen. Desperately."

"He did?" Larra wondered and saved for herself the thought that the King must be different from all other men indeed if he was so insistent on the sex of the babe he didn't even have yet. Most men would be thrilled with three healthy children, two of them boys – out of Dorne, the last part mattered. She shook her head and decided that it was a good thing she had never been expected to understand the whims of the Targaryens.

"Everyone has their preconceived notions." Ellaria Sand's voice was soft but somehow managed to uplift everyone as they were about to start thinking of how unfair it was that men even have preferences where sex was concerned when it was women who did the job. It was better than thinking about the next morning because then, the husbands of every woman in the room would leave with the expedition against the Vulture King. Every woman in the room who had one, that was it. And besides, Elia had prohibited Oberyn explicitly to join the others. It was Arthur's task and it should not be seen as if Oberyn was the one taking the real charge.

"This one most of all," Naeryn murmured. "Do you intend to submit to his summons?" she turned to Elia and gave her an innocent look.

Elia looked back at her with expression of utter disbelief. "Of course not!" she replied indignantly. "But we need to deal with this brigand first. Rhaegar will have to wait," she added and waved him of as the minor inconvenience he was at the moment. "Do you think he'll try to use the Vulture Roost?" she asked and everyone gathered their heads over the map of Dorne that occupied an entire table. "As far as I know, he hasn't tried it yet. Manwoody has the place watched."

Lady Blackmont looked uncertain. "I am not sure," she said. "If he's someone who knows the terrain, the Vulture Roost would look obvious. Too obvious," she added as an afterthought.

"I hope Manwoody's men are good at staying unnoticed," Alynna said, voicing the fear of everyone in the room. The swiftness and ferocity of the attacks against Dorne's neighbours showed that the Vulture King was indeed someone who knew the terrain. A local. And that gave him advantage that he'd surely hasten to utilize before their host arrived. Arthur and Arel knew the Dornish Marches quite well and they would bring superiority in numbers. This Vulture King could hardly afford to wait for them to add the local lords' armies to their own. He might turn against Dorne any moment now – and Alynna, Ashara, and Larra who all had small children in their castles could not help but feel some dark premonition clawing its way inside them.

They were so focused on the map that no one heard the soft click of a door opening. Two men entered and took the solar in, watching the women with fondness and amusement. "I hope they are better at it than you are," the older one spoke, and the ladies turned as one.

"Ivorr!" Elia cried out happily, throwing herself at him. "Ivorr, you scoundrel, where have you been all those months, you stupid man! Oh so happy to see you!"

"Step aside so I can have a look as well," Alynna said, smiling. "I think I haven't seen him for almost as long as you."

He held Elia tight and then released her to embrace Alynna as well before drawing back. "Here, let me have a look at you," he said and grinned. "Still looking like mirror images to each other. Such lovely images…" he finished.

The looks of eldest of Alric's three bastards often made people wonder whether he was Alric's at all. Ivorr was as fair-skinned as Alric was dark; he was broad-shouldered while Alric was as lean as an arrow; his hair shone like silvered gold in sharp contrast to Alric's black. All in all, Ivorr was a copy of his uncle Mikkel at this age, except for the eyes but even those weren't Alric's. Their disturbing silver colour made some people think that he had become a victim of a failed sorcery attempt, or maybe that he dabbled in sorcery himself. Others were quick to decide that he was blind – until it became clear that he could see a needle in the darkest corner of an unlit room at night, a skill that came very handy when he had to guide his ship through the fiercest of storms.

"Where are you coming from?" Elia asked.

"The Shivering Sea," he said in a voice that made her wonder whether this was a jest. "We're lucky we made it in time to see Alaenys before she leaves. Aegyl would have been furious otherwise," he added, nodding at his companion.

As it always happened when she saw her cousin after a long parting, Elia marveled at his colouring – what was this black-haired son of the silver-haired Aelinor and equally fair-haired Aemon? His eyes, though, marked him unmistakably as belonging to them, those startling violet eyes, their sparkle heightened against his olive skin. He had yet to broaden in the shoulders but he already towered over Naeryn hugely. Elia bit back a smile and wished she had been here to see the moment Naeryn had realized that the half-brother she had spoiled and commanded mercilessly was now stronger than her. Now it was she who looked like a child next to him.

"Is Alaenys here?" he now asked after embracing Elia and Alynna. "Or should I travel to New Star? I've been on firm land in less than an hour after five months into the sea and I'd really want to…"

"She's here," Naeryn said. "And if Ivorr can spare you, you can even accompany her to Storm's End."

"Yes," he murmured. "It's only been a year or so, and so many strange things happened. We'll have another Martell soon, and with Arthur Dayne, of all people, how curious. And I can swear I heard people talk about you and Yronwood… the father of the one Vaella is going to wed. I suppose this is true as well?"

Naeryn blushed and glared and Elia wondered how interactions between sailors and townspeople worked. In less than an hour, her cousins had already learned the latest gossip. She wouldn't be too shocked if they knew about the Vulture King as well.

"We're having a more pressing problem right now," she said and in a few words, brought them in on the matter.

They listened silently and then looked at each other. "Well," Ivorr announced. "I think chasing brigands will be good for me. Under your consort's command, of course. This time, our journey was remarkably uneventful. No slave traders trying to run us over, no pirates trying to sink us and feed us to their dogs… Boredom, I'm telling you."

Elia looked aside, stifling the urge to jump up and kiss him. With pain and shame, she realized just how relieved she was that he would accompany Arthur as well. She still didn't trust her husband – not his ability but his devotion to her rule. If Rhaegar decided that somehow it was in his best interest to make her look incompetent… Elia was not sure that Arthur wouldn't listen to his instructions, even if he had to make himself look incompetent in the process. And while she could not risk send her father or Oberyn there, her half-brothers were a good compromise – not influential enough to cause rumours of her distrust in Arthur but valued and competent enough to make Arthur reconsider should he harbour any thoughts to do anything else than defeating the marauding creature immediately and conclusively.

The magic of their time alone in their chambers was now lost, to be recaptured when they retired at night. But in the daylight, she had to deal with reality. And right now, reality showed her that she was still many miles away from having the marriage her parents had had – one founded not in love alone but trust. Bitterly, she wondered whether her time at King's Landing had deprived her of the ability to trust. _Maybe when the time to trust Arthur comes, I won't see it_ , she thought, shuddering. Her hands went to her belly in a sudden urge to protect the unborn from the cruel reality it would be born in.

* * *

"Something is wrong."

Arel's voice was as calm as ever but those who knew him well enough could catch the concern. They had only come ashore a few breaths ago, the head of the garrison at the main port of Starfall had not even reached them. Arthur squinted to see him closer and had to admit that Arel was right. Something in the way the man wouldn't look at his lord was not right.

"What's wrong?" Arel asked as soon as the two groups met.

Ser Huon brought his mount as close as he could get and said something in a low voice. Arthur saw how his brother's face changed before Arel's self-control returned.

Turning to Arthur, he said, "I believe you still remember where everything is? You'll be able to quarter the men on your own?"

"Of course," Arthur replied, not asking any questions. "Ser Huon will assist me should need arise."

The old knight nodded curtly.

"Very well," Arel said, nodded goodbye to everyone and headed for the white castle stirring to life under the soft shimmer of a golden-pink dawn as fast as his sand steed would take him. For a while, Arthur stared after him before switching to commander duties and pointing two hundreds of the men-at-arms to the barracks in the port where they could spend the night, other four hundred at the huge watchtower, and led the rest of them to the castle where they would be quartered.

"I'll meet you at midnight," Elvar Sand promised. It was very short time indeed to assembly the men-at-arms of Blackmont but Arthur trusted that he could do it. "And no ravens," he added, repeating the agreement they had arrived at: if this Vulture King was indeed a local, he'd know the routes of the ravens. Messages could be intercepted.

"No ravens," Arthur confirmed. If a change came upon them, they'd make it known through a courier, although that would be considerably slower.

Elvar looked at his brother. "I suppose you'd want to stay here?" he asked.

To Arthur's surprise, Ivorr nodded. "I'll stay."

"Very well," Arthur said and without delay, Elvar, Aegyl, and a small group of men rode off. Arthur led the way to Starfall, Ivorr and Ser Huon flanking him.

"What happened?" Arthur asked as soon as he was sure everything was proceeding as it should.

The old knight who had been here since Arthur's earliest years looked away and heaved a sigh. "We didn't know about this Vulture King," he said.

It was Arthur's turn to heave a sigh – one of relief. If it was all about not being aware of a disturbance…

But Arel would not have reacted like this if it was only a matter of bad organizing.

"The Vulture King only started acting in less than a week," he said, trying to soothe Ser Huon's concern and make him more conversational.

The look he got in reply was nothing short of enormously guilty. "But they aren't here," Ser Huon said. "Don't you know? We didn't know and Lady Allyria went riding as she often does, along with the little lordlings. And now, they aren't here, and we only found Lord Ilon's pony, and we have no idea where they are, we've searched everywhere, the grooms who accompanied them never returned either…"

In Arthur's chest, a cold snake of fear coiled and expanded until it was settled comfortably – making him anything but. "Why weren't we made aware of this?" he snapped. "For how long have they been missing?"

"Two days," the grizzled man replied miserably. "We tried to get in touch, we sent ravens… We organized a search, many searches, and nothing else was found…"

Arthur's brain was working furiously. Granted, he didn't know his youngest sister at all but he knew that she must be well acquainted with the terrain – he, Arel, and Ashara certainly had been at this age, as well as the other children of high birth in the region. And the grooms surely knew the surroundings as well. Getting lost was literally impossible. An accident, maybe? _The little lordlings_ , Ser Huon had said. Only two children fitted that description, and they were both under six. Alynna's son by her late husband and her first son by Arel. The heir of Starfall. Yes, an accident was definitely a possibility. Children were frail. Not experienced riders.

Even so, one of the grooms would have returned to bring help. Arthur supposed that there had been three of them – one for Allyria and two others for the boys. When he asked, Ser Huon confirmed that this had been indeed the case.

"And they knew the terrain?" Arthur demanded.

"Borral was one of them," the knight replied, and the name of the man who had once guided Arthur on his first ventures out of home was answer enough.

The castle rose in front of them, a vision of perfection that nothing could beat, white as a flower of hope whose unfurling revealed a pale red petal – the cobbled square behind the massive gates. Its towers rose, tall and slim, like the shimmering visions that sometimes taunted sailors into the open sea, the gardens created by colours occupied four small rises in the ground. It was so much more lovelier than the cold magnificence of the Red Keep, the place where Arthur's heart had always brought him in his dreams, the place he'd only dreamt of returning to. Despite everything, his heart soared – until he entered the central part and saw the subdued faces of the servants.

"Would you take care of the men we've brought?" he turned to the castellan. The man nodded and Arthur added, "But first, I want you to lead Ser Ivorr to his chambers."

During their ride here, he had realized just why the man had decided against accompanying Elvar to Blackmont. After months in the sea followed by a brief staying ashore and another stormy trip, Ivorr Sand was now almost unable to move his left shoulder and arm. Arthur still remembered how upon meeting them, all those years ago, he had thought that Ivorr and Naeryn must be siblings – she was lacking a hand and he had a deformed arm, withered and visibly shorter than his other. Of course, now he knew that while Naeryn's defect had been present in the womb, Ivorr's was just an unfortunate and all too common result of a difficult birth. Ivorr was lucky in that he could use his arm at all, although with some limitations, but pain and discomfort had been his constant companions since the day he had been born. The sooner he got the chance to rest, the better.

"Thank you," he now said and followed the maidservant who hurried to bring him along.

"Feed our horses as well," Arthur went on, looking at the castellan again. The man gave him a look that he took as "You think I'm stupid?".

"My lord, I will."

It felt weird to hear himself addressed this way, although, of course, that was the style Elia's husband was entitled to. "Where is my brother?" he asked.

The man looked uncertain. "I think he went to the nursery… I'll show you there…"

"No need of that," Arthur snapped, suddenly irritated. "I still know the way."

He headed outside, to the door across the courtyard that would bring him to the part the family dwelled in faster than if he had to walk all the way along the great hall, down the corridor and the covered bridge. Pushing the door open, he entered a large empty antechamber cut by a few staircases. He chose the one on the bottom and ascended, avoiding without thinking the fourth step that had once creaked ominously.

The children's rooms were on the second floor. Arthur pushed the first door, suddenly hesitant, and the first thing he saw was the enormous cradle of golden oak that Alric and Aelinor had purchased at King's Landing. He tiptoed to it and peered, to be met with a pair of black eyes staring at him inquisitively. He held his breath, scared that she'd start screaming and wake up her brother, as well. But instead, she clearly decided that she had given him enough attention and looked somewhere past his shoulder instead while sucking at her brother's fingers. Her own fingers were in his mouth also. A dark head against a silver one, swarthy skin against creamy one – they didn't look like siblings at all. Arthur was sure that should the boy open his eyes, they would be purple, like his father's, instead of Alynna's black orbs. It was so peaceful. He tiptoed back to the door, the thought of disturbing them suddenly becoming the worst thing possible.

Down the hallway, a door was ajar. This time, Arthur entered without fearing that he'd disturb, and felt as if he was crossing the threshold to the past. Two beds, lots of beautifully crafted wooden toys, sunlight filling the room to the brim – it was just as he remembered it. Only, despite the early hour, there were no boys to hide their heads under the pillow in a desperate attempt to prolong their sleep.

"They will be back soon," he said softly.

Arel turned back and looked at him before placing the small horse he was holding on the table. "I hope so," he said. "I really, really hope so."

It didn't look like he had anything to add. Arthur had no idea what to say either.

"Come on," Arel said, suddenly determined. "I want to have a look at Allyria's room."

And it turned out that he meant just what he said. Arthur watched, open-mouthed, as his brother started looking under pillows, taking boxes and emptying them on the floor, upending chairs and looking under their upholstery…

"Don't look at me like this," Arel snapped. "Help me! Try to remember where you used to hide things when you were fourteen…"

Arthur didn't understand immediately and when he did, he couldn't believe it. "You think she has just run away?" he asked. "With… someone? Why would she take the boys then? I don't…"

"No," Arel cut him off. "You clearly don't. She's fourteen, Arthur. Not a child anymore but not with the understanding of a woman either, for all she fancies herself one. She might have made a mistake, trusted someone more than she should have. And if so, it must have backfired somehow. She's fourteen," he said again. "At this age, I was… And you weren't any better either! She might have placed them all into something that she now cannot get them out of."

Arthur's first instinct was to argue that Allyria _was_ a child. But she wasn't, he just hadn't seen her since she had been one. The memory of Harrenhall came to mind. Ashara had been a woman then and yet she had made a mistake that had almost ruined her. How much easier it should be for someone as young as Allyria to make one? But for now, that was only an assumption. "So, you think the Vulture King has nothing to do with it?" he asked.

Arel left the drawer whose content he had been checking and drew a hand across his forehead. "I don't know," he said. "I have no idea what might have happened. But if Allyria had been up to something she shouldn't have been up to, I want to know. That might point us to something. And it's her that I'm most concerned about. With Edric, they can hold me; Ilon gives them a hold over Mikkel. But Allyria? She's nothing but someone who can't hope for anything more than a good match. Whoever has them probably won't hesitate to hurt her the way they would not risk harm the boys… and she's quite protective of the children. If she decides that they are not being treated accordingly… If the man who holds them is this Vulture King…"

He fell silent.

"So, the war might have come to Dorne," Arthur concluded. "It makes no sense! This so called king, he cannot hope to win against Dorne _and_ the other side of the Marches at the same time. He should have waited, gone about it one thing at a time."

"He might not have had a choice," Arel reasoned. "The children might have seen something not meant for their eyes. Sometimes, Allyria rides all the way to the ridge and back. If she saw something…"

"If she recognized someone…" Arthur finished for him. "They might have had no choice but take her."

Arel nodded and returned to his obsessive searching of the room in the desperate hope of finding something that would help them decide which one of the grim possibilities was the right one. Arthur joined him.

 


	26. Rage of Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who commented: I greatly appreciate your input in keeping this story going.

The search in Allyria's room didn't tell them anything. There was nothing suspicious there – no letters, no things that shouldn't be there. The girl's handmaiden, a middle-aged woman Arthur did not recognize, told them that no items of her mistress' clothing were missing.

Arthur looked at the window. At leaving the nursery, Allyria had appropriated Ashara's old room, the one looking at the sea. The sun leaned pale luminescent shimmer to the gentle ripple of the surface but Arthur's sharp eye caught something else: the thousands of pinpoints hiding under the pearls of that golden silk. From the windows on the next wall, the Red Mountain rose, green and enticing, yet Arthur well knew how dangerous they could be at night. With the sunset, cold descended and it killed as certainly as a sword would, only more slowly and agonizingly. Would Allyria really leave without some warm clothes in the saddlebag?

The search in the boys' rooms showed that there were no clothes missing there either – no coats, nothing that could protect them at night.

"Two days," Arel said. "Two nights. I hope they were in a warm place."

Arthur wasn't quite sure but he wasn't about to say so. "They are young but strong," he said. "Even if there wasn't a great fireplace, I am sure that they could take it for a while without any adverse effects."

His brother shook his head. "Ilon isn't all that healthy," he said.

That was news to Arthur. Somehow, he had always taken for granted that Alynna and Errol's children would be as strong of constitution as both of their parents. Maybe because he had always compared Alynna's glowing health to Elia's fragile one. "Isn't he?" he asked.

"No," Arel said. "In the last few months before his birth, Alynna didn't have enough to eat. He was born very tiny. He had been starving in the womb. And he hasn't overcome it."

For a while, he stood staring ahead before making a step forward, abruptly. "Come on," he said. "I think it's time we pay our dear kinsmen, my loyal bannermen a visit."

Arthur didn't need elaborations to know what his brother was talking about. "You think they would dare?"

"Allyria's usual route runs quite close to their lands," Arel replied. "And they aren't in Elia's good graces right now. In fact, she and Gerold had a falling out as soon as she arrived over his trying to wed Larra by force."

"Did they?" Arthur mumbled, stung. "How do you know?" _Why don't I know_ , was what he meant but he couldn't say it. Even Arel couldn't know just how uneasy he was with leaving his and Elia's private world to face yet another reminder that there were those she trusted more than she did him. When it came to other people, he was ready to accept it, to some extent, but with Arel, it was more galling. He didn't know why. It just was. Which was ridiculous. He trusted Arel as he did no one else, so why was he irked that Elia trusted him as well? At the same time, he was ashamed, for it was not the moment for him to think of such things when the children might be – almost certainly were – in peril.

"Lord Alric," his brother replied. "Are you coming with me?"

"Yes," Arthur replied. "Yes, of course."

The two of them left the castle immediately without even trying the morning meal that had been served for them. Arthur would have liked to take Ivorr Sand as well but it would be better if the man slept his fatigue away and recuperate for as long as he could, else he might be useless in the battle that Arthur was now sure would be inevitable. Instead, they took twenty knights and twice as many men-at-arms up the narrow path leading them to the gorge of the Torentine. Their companions were mostly men from the surrounding area but there were a few who came from Sunspear and Hellholt, so their horses neighed and skitted anxiously at finding themselves so close to the precipice. Arthur could see that Arel's impatience was growing and was relieved when finally, under a thin ray of sunlight here and there, they entered the heart of the mountain.

It was sweet smelling, and beautiful, and so _home_ that Arthur couldn't find the words to describe the warm glow of joy and gratitude and belonging that filled him. Still, the cool wind soon brought him to the severity of their situation. While the three children had left attired warmly enough for a ride, that would not keep them warm for long if they were immobile anywhere in the mountain but near a roaring fire.

"Do you really think they might be there?" he asked. "I've heard that Gerold was not trustworthy but would Geralt let him do as he pleases? He's too cowardly."

"He was," Arel corrected. "While Shanai was still alive."

Arthur had barely known Arel's first wife and by the set of his brother's jaw it didn't look like Arel cared to elaborate, so they rode in silence up and up, trampling on grass and honeysuckles until a sudden turn of the path revealed High Hermitage: high above them, the castle stared at them, all edges and hostility. In the sunlight it reached into, its towers shed red like a waterfall of blood. Near the walls, the Torentine roared an angry unwelcome.

"Such a charming place," someone murmured sarcastically from behind.

Arthur looked at his brother. "You won't do anything rash, will you?"

Arel smiled wryly. "When have I ever!"

This wasn't terribly soothing and he must have realized it because he said, "I won't do anything that could create unneeded problems. Besides, they aren't here. I don't know where they are but even if those two had something to do with it, the children aren't here, you can trust me."

Arthur barely had the time to feel impressed with his brother's intimate knowledge of their beloved kinsmen when Arel rode forward, leaving him no choice but follow.

"Open the gates," Arel ordered, looking up to reveal his face. "Didn't you hear me? _Open those gates._ "

It took a few minutes or so but the great gates, grey with time, finally opened and before anyone could say anything, Arel rode in, gesturing at everyone to follow. But at the end, it was only he and Arthur who entered the great hall where no stirring betrayed usage of the spacious room with a vaulted ceiling at all.

"I want to speak to your master and Ser Gerold," Arel turned to the castellan who hurried over to greet him.

The fact that he did not lose time with any pleasantries made the man's eyes widen. "Ser Gerold isn't here, my lord," he replied.

"And he's been absent for… how long?" Arel's voice was still mild. "No, no need to answer. Your master will do this for you. Is he coming, or should I go and find him myself?"

The castellan looked taken aback by the lack of the angry outburst he had been expecting. Arthur wasn't.

"He's in his chambers," the knight replied. "Dealing with correspondence."

"Call him," Arel said. "Immediately. The matter is urgent."

But when after a short time, no one had appeared yet, he turned around and headed for the staircase without thinking twice. Arthur followed, wondering what had happened to make the relationship so strained. Or rather, so overtly strained. It had never been a good one but Arel had always preferred distance to outright strife. His worry over the children certainly had something to do with it but judging by Arel's offhand comments at Sunspear and Ashara's undisguised antipathy, things had escalated beyond Arthur's wildest expectations.

At the top of the stairs, in the shadows of the long gallery, both of them stopped and listened as if they hoped to hear children's voices, then swiftly proceeded to the oak doors leading to the private chambers. Arel knocked briefly and entered after only a short waiting.

Violet eyes, much like his own, greeted their arrival. "I was going to come down as soon as I was done here," the master of High Hermitage said.

"I am sure of it. That's why we came," Arel replied. "Do you happen to have any idea where my sons and sister are?" he asked bluntly.

Arthur cringed. Too much time at King's Landing had left him unaccustomed to things starting with rudeness. Finishing them with rudeness was one thing. But at court, they always started with enough fake sweetness to give him a toothache.

In the sunlight, their host and Arel looked strikingly similar, both tall, black-haired, and violet-eyed. But that was about the extent of their similarities – that and the hostility flowing deep like the Torentine, as unbridled as the sea about Dragonstone at storm.

Geralt Dayne looked bewildered. "Let's make it clear," he said. "Sweet Allyria clearly did something she shouldn't have done – seems to run in your family, my lord. Ashara comes to mind, - the boys got dragged into it somehow, and you think she came here, of all places?"

"That's not what I said."

"Ah." Geralt paused. "Are you accusing me of something, my lord?"

Things were escalating by the moment, the words shooting out almost before either participant had the time to think them over.

"No," Arel said. "Not yet. I'd very much like to know what Gerold has been doing for the last, say, one week. He's been amazingly absent for a man who usually knows how to make his presence known."

All of a sudden, he dropped all pretenses. His face contorted in a mask of concern and hatred that Arthur had not seen in fifteen years, had prayed he'd never have to see it again. "I believe your nephew is this Vulture King," he said bluntly. "And I also believe he was the one who took Allyria and the boys by force because they knew something that would prove it. Only, by doing so he destroyed every need of proof. I will have this castle searched from gates to ceilings, Geralt, and you'd better pray that I find them here and unharmed. Because if they don't appear within the next week, I will have High Hermitage razed to the ground. As to you, you could look for employment with another lord, only I doubt you'll find one in this part of Dorne."

If Arthur hadn't been watching his kinsman so intently, he would have missed it: the brief narrowing of the eyes that would mean anger with most people… but not necessarily so for Arthur himself, so in Geralt, he saw it for what it was.

"Arel, he knows something," he said harshly. "I'll have the search started now."

He hesitated. His oaths of a knight and former Kingsguard told him that what he was about to say next was dishonourable no matter how he looked at it but by the Stranger's pit, he _wanted_ it so much. And then he remembered a young Alric laughing and claiming, "Hate me? Of course they hate me. I don't mind it, as long as they fear me," and Princess Arianne shaking her head and scolding him that he was being too reckless. But cautiousness had never done much good with certain people. If Arthur was about to keep the peace in Elia's lands – and in this case, do some good to his own family as well – he should let go of some scruples.

"And I have no doubts that the result will show what you think they will," he added. "So we can start with taking the castle down tomorrow night… even before we set off to deal with Gerold. I mean, the Vulture King," he added sarcastically.

Arel gave him a quick look. They had no intention to wait for so long but giving Geralt the wrong impression was a good thing. Normally, it would take from three to five days to organize a chase this big, so their kinsman would probably think they were bluffing and trying to make Gerold do something rash to reveal his location. Which wasn't their plan. They were intent on finding him, not goading him into anything. Now, it was more urgent than ever.

Geralt looked as if the White Bull had landed his massive fist straight in his face. "You wouldn't dare."

"I dare more things than you can imagine." Arthur smiled. "You might have heard that the Princess and I are not only spouses but actually holding each other's heart. Why else do you think she would have sent me here to head the search? Who do you think she's going to believe? You or her own husband who _will_ give her proof?"

"A fabricated proof," Geralt Dayne retorted. He looked quite convinced that the proof could be nothing but fabricated. With sinking heart, Arthur realized that no matter what had transpired, they would not find the children here.

"A proof," he replied and gave another smile. "Who is going to defend you? Lady Blackmont, with her personal and justified grudge? Lord Manwoody who is sure that this side of the Dornish Marches is to be attacked soon? Cletus Yronwood who'd do anything to win Lady Vaella's affections? Or maybe my goodbrother?" He schooled his face into a thoughtful expression, wondering whether he could really get away with such a thing. Elia would not take well having High Hermitage burned without a solid proof. Anyway, Geralt need not know that.

He paused. "If you know where they are, Cousin, you'll tell us now. Or else, I'll deal with you now and explain things to my lady wife later, not that it would make any difference for you."

Geralt Dayne's face grew increasingly flushed. His eyes moved from his liege lord to Arthur and he could see enough of their expressions to know that they were deadly serious. But like Arthur said, it would not make any difference.

"I don't know where they are," he spat. This was the truth, as unpalatable as it was to those two.

Looking at him, Arthur felt that the search would only be a loss of time but he ordered one anyway. He would never forgive himself if someone was hurt and he had overlooked a thing. Besides, it could give them some inkling about Gerold's location.

It didn't.

"I should have known," Arel spat on their way back. "Geralt is a spineless worm and Gerold knows it. He would not have risked telling him anything we could squeeze out of him just by shaking him hard."

He was furious with himself for losing them a few hours. What a fool! Fear was never a good advisor and he _knew_ that, yet he had let it guide him.

"When we find Gerold, we'll find them as well," Arthur said. _Maybe._ For now, that was the most likely explanation, yet he could not chase away the memory of another disappearance of a highborn girl that had _looked_ like abduction.

Memories of events long gone were bad advisors as well.

Had Lord Alric felt like this when he had had to balance Arianne's interests against the wellbeing of his own family? Arthur had heard the story of the glorious battle at the Stepstones hundreds of times. The part that usually went unmentioned was that Aelinor Gargalen, at the time Maelys Blackfyre's unwilling bedmate and his betrayer, had almost lost her life to the monster's blade.

His mood was hardly improved when they returned to Starfall and he saw the person waiting for them there.

"Looks like you and I are destined to be together through fair and foul," Oberyn said, rising from the chair he had been occupying for a while. Not very long, though – he must have arrived pretty much immediately before them. Either that or he had decided against changing his travel-dirty clothes.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur snapped. He was in no mood to deal with Oberyn's meddling right now. "Didn't Elia tell you to stay bloody _away_?"

"She changed her mind," Oberyn replied. To Arthur's surprise, he went on explaining, instead of taunting him. "Naeryn saw a violent storm coming and she glimpsed that it will howl all around Starfall, so she decided that she was needed here. At hearing this, Alynna, of course, couldn't stay away."

And Arthur had thought his day was a bad one! Now, they had a woman convinced that they would fail without her active help and a distraught mother to deal with. Next to him, Arel muttered, "I was hoping she wouldn't have to learn about that just yet," and headed for his wife's chambers.

Arthur collapsed in the nearest chair and closed his eyes.

"You aren't going to fall asleep now, are you?"

Arthur opened an eye. "Go away, Oberyn. Just go away."

Of course, Oberyn didn't. Instead, a goblet appeared in front of Arthur. He sniffed it and drank. "I hope it's just wine," he murmured.

Oberyn smiled a little. "It is. Elia will mind if I leave her a widow so soon after becoming a wife and my father insisted explicitly that I treat you with all the respect due to his own person." There was a trace of indignation to his voice before it became serious. So serious that Arthur opened his other eye to look at him. "Look, Arthur, I am sorry about what's happening. I am worried as well. I've heard that Lady Allyria is a nice girl and Ilon and Edric are my nephews. They are Alynna's children. I want them back safe and sound. And I am not here to halt you in any way. I just came with Alynna and Naeryn, that's all. I am to take my orders from you until this vulture creature is done away with."

Arthur drank again. "What does Naeryn say?" he asked. "Where is she?"

"She was with Alynna. She told me that later, she'd try and ask the crystal for some guidance. Where he is, how many people does he have, if he has the children and so on." He paused. "She knows what she's doing, Arthur. Let her come and go wherever she wants to and _believe_ what she's telling you."

The thought of sorcery and believing some invented signs slinking in his life once again made Arthur rebel. For the Seven's sake, he had thought he had left those behind in the Red Keep!

But he knew what Arel would say. He would be ready to try out anything. And if Elia had sent Naeryn here, it meant that she wanted her to take any part Naeryn felt was needed.

_Welcome back, sorcery,_ Arthur thought bitterly and took another sip before going to bathe and eat, and start preparing for taking actions.

* * *

The bed was too big. Oh it hadn't been so when Elia had first come here. But now, without Arthur in it, it was looming huge and lonely, reminding her of their velvety nights together… as well as the blackening bruises Oberyn had given Arthur and Elia's own penchant of interrupting things with dashing to the privy to vomit. It had never made her feel uneasy, not the way it had with Rhaegar.

But now, the bliss of the first few weeks had evaporated, leaving them into a situation that reminded Elia very much of her childhood: he was away fighting and she was here ruling. And in truth, she was surprised just how little she missed him during her busy days – there wasn't time for her to squeeze him in.

At night, though…

"Did you issue a sentence in the hens' case?" Rhaenys asked curiously when her mother came in to kiss her goodnight. To Elia's relief, her daughter now looked calmer and happier. Of course, a good part of it was the knowledge that for the time being, she didn't have to share Elia with Arthur. But Elia thought that it was also the fact that she was getting settled here, feeling at home. That made her feel Rhaenys closer and even more hers. As usual, she tried to push away the thought of Aegon also getting settled into his new life, getting used to living without her, becoming less hers.

"Well?" Rhaenys insisted. "Did you?"

"Did you?" another voice chimed in and Elia had to laugh when a head popped out from under the covering. Ellaria's eldest girl, also named Elia, had clearly decided to spend the night here. Or Rhaenys had invited her. Now they both stared at her with the obvious idea that the complaint regarding the hens was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

"Yes," Elia said and gave them both a stern look. "And it isn't a cause for laughter, I want you to know. Poisoning your neighbour's hens is a very serious offense if the neighbour relies on their eggs to make living."

Crushed by her reproach, they looked down. Elia wondered whether she should let the lesson sink by keeping a firm line, or be nice, as her heart prompted her to do. At the end, her desire to impart values could not win against the burst of love at seeing the two heads on the pillow staring up at her beseechingly, so she smiled, kissed them goodnight, and left, making sure that the night candle was too far from them to be overturned by chance.

She walked down the hall, her hand on her belly, as if she could touch the babe the way she could Rhaenys. Night was the time when she missed Arthur most and Aegon's absence was a physical pain, crushing her under its weight. Now, she had Alynna to be concerned about. She could already say that sleep would not come fast to her tonight, so she sat down in her solar and started going over the accounts of the treasury. No matter how she parsed it, they would have to approach the Iron Bank. Just like Alyse Ladybright had said.

"You aren't still working, are you?"

Elia looked up and smiled invitingly. "Why, Alaenys, come in."

The girl stepped in readily. "I hope I am not intruding."

"No," Elia assured her. "Not at all."

That was a lie but she could see that her cousin was scared and in need of company. Reassurance, maybe. Elia remembered the days before her own departure for King's Landing and all of a sudden, the accounts did not look nearly as important as they had.

"Is there any news?" Alaenys asked, taking a seat across from Elia.

"No," Elia replied. "But it's too early anyway. They will deal with this Vulture King in a timely manner, have no fear," she added.

"Yes," Alaenys murmured, visibly disappointed. Of course she wanted the villain to be removed. She just didn't want to have the road safeguarded because then, there would be no reason to delay her departure.

Elia sighed. "It won't be this bad, Alaenys. Surely not as bad as you think it would right now."

"And how do you know?" the girl asked belligerently, leaning over to start leafing through the account books absent-mindedly.

"Because it's never as bad as new brides think it would be," Elia replied, and Alaenys laughed, surprised.

"I am being silly, aren't I? I mean, I am marrying a great lord in his own right, he isn't terribly old, he isn't a misshapen lady, and he isn't a womanizer, as far as I know…"

_Is it going to be enough,_ Elia wondered and prayed that it would be even as she reassured Alaenys that yes, she should consider herself very lucky indeed.

For a while, they chatted about small things. The age difference had never let them be truly close or at least, not confidantes like Elia was with Alynna, Naeryn, and Lanore who was far away at Essos. But they were fond of each other and right now, they both needed someone near to keep fear at bay.

So Elia told Alaenys all she wanted to know about life at court, and what gowns ladies wore, and how foul-smelling King's Landing was – "I don't believe you! There can't be such a stench, anywhere!" – and the hurdles she had encountered while getting used to her new responsibilities. The greatest hurdle, by the name of Aerys Targaryen, remained unmentioned and so did Elia's relationship with Rhaegar, from the very beginning. And when the girl started giggling at the comical way Elia described her travails, Elia knew that she had achieved what she had wanted to – imbue Alaenys with confidence that things could work out. Truth was something that they didn't need. Not here, not tonight. So they drifted off in their world of no impediments too big to overcome, no sullen husbands-to-be, and no mad kings who would start a war destroying so much of what they held dear.

* * *

Allyria Dayne's senses had sharpened so swiftly that she still wasn't accustomed to it. She now heard the footsteps as soon as the man started climbing the spiraling staircase. She even recognized him – the same man who carried their tray with meals thrice a day. And when he opened the door, she saw that she had been right.

"It's you again," she spat, doing her best to hide the fear that had her shaking like a small terrified animal under the blanket she had pulled as high as she could with the two little boys snuggled next to her. Somehow, she felt that her shows of arrogance and courage too his courage away, so she sought arrogance and bravery once again hoping that this time, it will work. "I told you I want to speak to your master."

The man silently placed the tray on the table and headed for the door, looking over his shoulder, as if he feared that she'd lunge at him. To an outsider, it would look ridiculous, for he was a bear of a man and Allyria was too small even for a fourteen-year-old. But her displays of outrage seemed to paralyze him, although not enough to make him do what she said.

"Don't turn your back at me!" Allyria yelled. "I want to speak to your master. Now! Where are our men? The children are very ill and he needs to know it."

"He… he does, my lady," the giant said haltingly.

That made her pause. She had assumed that he had not dared approach Gerold. The thought that Darkstar might know how ill both boys were and didn't care was far more troubling. She had clung to the reasonable assumption that he'd like to keep them alive and well so he could use them, so if he didn't….? She had to know what was going on.

The bear was leaving, there was no time. Allyria's eyes fell on the tray at the table. "If you don't call Gerold Dayne here right now, I'll inhale these olives and I'll choke to death, and then you can explain that to your master who will have one person less to hold my brothers with!"

The man turned back to look at her. To her surprise, there was something like hesitancy in his eyes. By the gods, had he actually _bought_ this? "If you don't bring him to me right now, I'll choke and I'll die, and leave all of you to face the consequences!" she threatened again.

He banged the door so loudly that she and Ilon actually jumped. Allyria shook her head, still unaware whether her stupid bluff had been believed. He had looked scared but then, she couldn't believe that someone could actually fall for such flat a lie. How could one choke to death on purpose? On _olives_ , of all things?

"Allyria," Ilon whispered. "Are you going to die?"

"What?" she asked, confused, before realizing that he, too, had heard her. "No! No, Ilon, no. I just wanted him to believe it, not you. Come here now."

Once again, he relaxed against her and she wrapped him in the blanket as warmly as she could, feeling his forehead. His fever had risen further. He had started getting ill in their first night in this cold bedchamber and he was getting worse. She feared that soon, he'd go into delirium. He was shaking, his teeth clattering, his extremities turning bluish.

At her other side, Edric was so immobile that she poked him, scared that he'd go to sleep. With head injuries, it was a dangerous thing because one might never wake up, so she talked to him, trying to keep him awake or waking him up because he nodded off as soon as her attention was turned elsewhere for a brief moment. He seemed unable to chew properly and she alternated between being scared that he'd choke and being scared that he might starve.

Their grooms had been separated from them almost immediately and Allyria feared that they might not be even alive. After all, if highborn who could serve as precious hostages could be kept almost dying with cold in a room with no fire and a single blanket so high in the mountain, servants would hardly be kept alive and fed. Her fear was growing with every hour the children sickened in front of her with her being unable to help them and the clamour, comings and goings in the narrow courtyard. She had no idea what her hated kinsman had in mind but it couldn't be anything good.

The chamber had no windows, just an embrasure high in the wall. If Allyria rose up onto her toes, she look far above the round walls, straight into the blue heart of the mountain range that was so ridiculously named the Red Mountains. And there, just a few tops away, lay the castle Wyl, Ashara's new home. Ashara who had no idea that they were so close. Ashara who might have already learned of their disappearance and worry.

_Please,_ Allyria prayed. _Please, Ashara, think of this place. Ashara, Toral, Arel – please someone comes here to look for us. We're here._

And then, the door opened.

 


	27. Mortal Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

"What are you going to do?"

Naeryn turned back, got entangled into the lace curtain, and muttered a curse as she was trying to get herself free. Ivorr came to her. Between them, they had two functional hands and one partly functional, so it didn't take them long to remove the lace. As always, Naeryn wondered how her cousin managed not to get entangled in the hawsers of his ship but it looked like he didn't.

"Nothing," she said angrily. "Since I came here, I can see nothing. The Seven only knows what incantations have been woven in the foundation of this castle but Ivorr, _I can see nothing_ , let alone _do_ something." Her lips curved in a grim smile. "The first Daynes were very intent on not letting any magic find its way to their castle of white and stars. Probably didn't think that one day, some might be needed for a _good_ purpose." She started pacing the room. "What am I to do? Run around the grounds and stop here and there, trying to find the boundary? Go up the mountain and light a fire there? Does any of this sound remotely useful to you?"

He sighed, kneading his withered arm. While his concern was no less than hers, he wasn't the one who felt that he could help if not so encumbered, so he was more capable of thinking rationally.

"This chamber is overlooking the south," he said. "The entire castle is built facing the west. Maybe if you try a different room…"

"Oh," Naeryn breathed. Now she realized just how far away she had drifted from her days in Essos, the days of her youth. _Seek the east_ , that was the first rule imparted to them in their training. _Always seek the east._ For a while, she had followed it faithfully before realizing that she didn't need it. She was the blood of the dragon, with the magic of Old Valyria, the determination of the Rhoynar, and the scorching of the sun in her veins. Unlike most of the others, there were things that she didn't need to use.

Or so she had thought.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, of course."

Arel didn't bat an eyelid when he heard her strange plea. Arthur looked uncomfortable but just mildly. Naeryn couldn't truly blame him, with what she had heard about Aerys' pyromancers and Rhaegar's obsession with prophecies. He didn't try to dissuade his brother and this was enough.

Roderic, though, her self-appointed guard… His disapproval was obvious, although he wouldn't say a thing.

"Look," Ivorr offered. "Maybe it's better if you stay in Lady Naeryn's chamber. I'll take good care of her."

The man from the North gave him a look as if he wondered whether Ivorr was mad or going mad now. Thankfully, his eyes didn't go all the way down to the deformed palm and two fingers that were too short. Not that Ivorr – or Naeryn, for that matter – took such things to heart, not anymore, but it was still nice.

The man's eyes now moved to Arthur, bright and suspicious, and at seeing them in the same room for the very first time, Naeryn could not help but wonder whether it had been Arthur who gave Roderic this scar. Lyanna Stark's abduction was still very much a precipice dividing people, all those years after.

Arel gave his orders and once again leaned over a map of the Red Mountains, his castellan, Arthur, Oberyn, Ivorr, and a few others crowding around him. "Darkstar knows the region as well as any of us," Ser Huon said. "He might have made his camp in any of the tops that no one beside the goats ever visits."

"And the Young Dragon," Arthur reminded them. "Whoever this Vulture King is, he must have some support from another place. High Hermitage alone isn't capable of supporting any army for attacks like the ones the creature has undertaken for now. This rift between the two sides of the Dornish Marches is a part of a bigger scheme and I want to know what it is!"

The look that Arel gave him made him shudder. "Right now, I don't care about the bigger schemes," his brother said. "I want the children back."

Arthur felt chilled at the realization that their purposes might turn out to be different. Elia wanted the Vulture King dealt with, Arel placed top priority on finding the children. They had already started changing their plans to encompass this second purpose, taking men and resources away from the first. But it Allyria and the boys weren't where the Vulture King was? And if they were, he probably wouldn't go down without taking them with him. Especially if he turned out to be Gerold.

"So do I," he said. "Do we have the Nameless Precipice covered? As Ser Huon said, if the man we're looking for is Gerold Dayne, we shouldn't overlook anything and he'd use even the smallest holes."

Naeryn lit the fire the moment the sun sunk behind the far east of the desert. The sight filled her with dark premonition: she had rarely seen such pure crimson, veiling the sands in shimmer of warm blood. She reached up for her obsidian and her hand shook before placing it on her forehead. She was frightened that she would not see. She was frightened that she would see.

The men were leaving at midnight and she had to give them something, yet the fire refused to burn.

"Roderic," she called out and he entered. "Help me."

Wordlessly, he did so despite his obvious reluctance. In their years together, he had seen her lighting similar fires many times, yet it looked like it was never easier to bear. But she had no time to lose tending to his sensitivities.

Her thoughts focused on the children, she let a part of her mind to turn to the east, to the Red Temple in Lys, to the water houses of Braavos. She could not quite conjure the black streets of Ashai, though, and the voices of her teachers came into a shapeless whisper, with no words discernible and no voice recognizable. The shadows did not dance in the flames but instead, clustered together, revealing her nothing.

_That's the castle's defenses_ , she thought. _Alynna should have told me. If she knew about it at all._ But it was entirely possible that she didn't. Maybe even Arel had no idea.

When the shadows finally parted, she briefly glimpsed a mountain top but she had no time to look at it more closely before the dragons came roaring, breathing flames into the flames. Lately, they had been meddling in whatever she tried to do and she chased them away almost absent-mindedly, only to see not the mountain top coming back but a woman she had once known, red of hair and robes, her eyes full of determination. Naeryn did not believe in Melisandre's red god but she believed in Melisandre's power and courage and seeing her now scared her. What was she up to? How was it important to Naeryn?

Now, Asshai came, as ugly and enticing as she remembered it. But it was not like any other time she had summoned it to enhance her visions. This time, it spread as wide in her mind's eye as it was spread on the shores of Ash, pushing everything else away, revealing her things of unspeakable cruelty and dark futures but nothing of what she wanted to see. The flames rose higher, reaching the chimney pipe, rising high into it, spinning out of her control, and then visions of pasts that were hers and not hers, of futures that would be and would never come into fruition danced, clashed, pulled each other in front of her to see and pushed each other away. The obsidian burned her forehead to the bones, searing her flesh harsher than ever before, and she screamed, reaching for it desperately. For a brief moment, everything that she had been taught, everything that she had learned so painstakingly, everything that she had done hundreds of times, all that she knew about the consequences of disturbing magic dissolved under the physical demands of her body.

Only a moment but it was enough.

She had tried to toss the pendant in the far end of the room but her hand – a single one, a hand shaking in pain – betrayed her. With wide, helpless eyes Naeryn saw the jewel enhancing her magic fall into the flames and when she tried to reach in and take it out, the heat licked her palm and fingers so fiercely that she howled and drew back.

The shadows crowded once again, tormenting her with flickering visions. The flames rose higher yet, the fire taking all shades of all colours. Naeryn had no way to influence any of it and she could only watch what she had unleashed, as helpless as any peasant woman.

She did not see the flames bursting out of the chimney into the night and the panic spreading among those who could see the unnatural colours of the fire dancing behind the windows. She did not hear the door being thrown open and the shouts of those who burst in. But she did hear the silence that descended all of a sudden. She saw how the fire lowered back, once again taking the golden and crimson shades of the flames in any hearth.

Behind her, someone gasped. She spun around and then made an involuntary step aside, as if not to intrude. Oberyn drew her close, his face slackened in shock. She clung to him, wrapping an arm about his waist, trembling from head to toe.

Errol Gargalen rose in the flames and stepped out, staring ahead, straight into Alynna's eyes. He held out a hand and she stepped forward, as if answering a call that only she could hear.

_That was not supposed to happen_ , Naeryn thought despairingly. _It can't be happening._ Now, she realized that she should have stopped as soon as it had become clear that she could not bind the shadows to her will. By the Seven, she should have never started anything in the first place!

Alynna reached the fireplace and stood there, unsure of what to do, her eyes glazed with shock and the residual effects of the milk of the poppy they had given her earlier. Errol brought his hand down, cupping her cheek. She gasped with pain but pressed her face further into his palm, then drew back sharply. "No," she moaned. "Don't…"

He touched her face again and she went silent, leaning against him. His other hand slid down, against her heart.

"My lady," he said. His eyes were tender, bathing her in the radiance of love and devotion they had all delighted in for years. Silver to her black, purple to her dark, white to her swarthy – they still looked perfect next to each other. Pale shimmering light danced around him and it was coming from within him, from beneath his own unblemished skin.

They looked terrifying.

Arel came to Naeryn's side but he could not go farther. It was as if an invisible wall separated the pair at the fireplace from everyone else.

"Let her go, Errol," he said softly. "She isn't yours."

Finally, Oberyn moved, his hand sliding past Naeryn's back to his dagger. Did he think the blade could help against such a threat? Could he use it even if he did? He hesitated, his fingers going slack. "Let her go, Errol," he whispered. "Please."

Errol paid no attention to any of them, focused on Alynna alone. He did not touch her heart, though. Instead, he stared horrified at her face, at the cheek he was cupping. Black holes bubbled against the perfect skin, she moaned and he stroked her, trying to take the pain away. He didn't seem to realize that it was him who was doing this, that the wounds had come from his own touch, and where his fingers caressed her soothingly, a trail of blood woozed.

"Alynna," he said again. His entire being, on rather what was left of it was focused on her.

"No," she said.

She drew back and gave him a look that was aiming to be level, yet was just desperate and yearning. "This isn't your place," she said firmly. Tears were making glistening patterns down her cheeks. "This isn't your time. Go away. You never should have come."

He looked confused. "That's right," he said. "Why did I come?"

Everyone's eyes went to Naeryn who shook her head desperately. She certainly hadn't summoned him. She was no necromancer! She didn't know how!

Alynna was now swaying in front of the fireplace, moving towards the hand that was beckoning her, and then drawing back. The torment on her face would leave only the most heartless among men unmoved. The five imprints on her cheek were hissing and smoking where hot tears ran over them. Errol watched her with concern that was both appealing and appalling. He truly did not understand that he was the one hurting her. It was as unfathomable to him in death as it had been in life, or maybe even more.

"It's time for you to go away," Oberyn said softly. "Release her, Errol."

Errol gave him a look as if he had just noticed him. He really had been focused on Alynna alone. Maybe in death, he had been able to preserve only the one emotion truly woven into his heart's beating. "Do you really want me to go away, Cousin?" he asked. There was fondness and certainty in his voice, as if he knew what the answer would be.

Oberyn slowly shook his head, his cockiness, confidence, bragging gone, leaving his face an open map of his heart, showing his longing for what was impossible, lost, gone forever to return. "No," he whispered. "No…"

_We're the ones keeping him here_ , Naeryn suddenly realized. _Because we don't want him to go._

"Go away, Errol," she said, her voice shaking. "And don't come back."

"Alynna," Arel said sharply, having found his voice once again. "Come."

The sound of his voice seemed to shake her out of her trance. She made a step to him without hesitation, then another one, and then she was suspended by the invisible snare that was the turmoil of her own heart.

He extended a hand. "Come," he said again, tenderly this time. "I cannot come to you, so you must come to me. If you want to."

In this prolonged, petrifying moment, Naeryn thought that Alynna wouldn't want to. Sure, what she had with Arel was solid and real but… Errol had been part of her life for much longer. The man who had been everything to her. The one she had turned down a crown for. Her other half. The blood in her veins. Everything. And if she chose to stay with him… Naeryn didn't know what would happen. Death and life did not belong together. Something terrible would happen.

And then, Alynna made the final few steps.

Naeryn's relief faded almost instantly. Alynna was now weeping, clinging to Arel for dear life but her face was still twisted in agony. Her mind was starting to unravel under the weight of what was happening.

"We're losing her!" Ivorr said sharply. "Errol, it's you. Don't you understand? Let her go!"

"Errol," Arel whispered, numb with horror. "Release her."

Errol made a step backward, alarmed. Once again, his eyes went to his wife's cheek and then to his hand. The purple orbs widened with the shock of a sudden realization. "I- I did not mean…" he stammered out. "I did not want…"

He stared at her once again, cradled in Arel's arms, and the sadness of his understanding made Naeryn weep. Alynna was lost to him and he was lost to her.

And then, he was gone. Just like this. One moment, he was here and the next moment, there wasn't even a shimmer of his pallid light. _Love is a sorcery in itself_ , Naeryn thought, her teeth clattering. She had heard her teachers repeating it constantly, yet no one even tried to teach them the magic of love. Now, she realized why this was: because the workings of human heart could not be predicted, designed, deciphered. Forced.

The shadows started crowding once again: Asshai, the Titan of Braavos, the burning castle, the roaring of dragons dead and reborn, the blue mountain top, and the bloodied head at her mother's feet, Aelinor's wedding gown spattered with red …

"Give her to me," Oberyn said when the flames emptied and started flickering, once again harmless, meaningless. "Arel? I have to see her… and call the Maester…"

The five imprints on Alynna's cheek were still gaping, burned away, ugly. Slowly, Arel released her, Oberyn came near and the two of them placed her on the upholstered bench where she lay unmoving, still whimpering.

"Let's hope she keeps her wits about her after this," Oberyn muttered, wringing a cloth dry to clean the wounds. "And it was all for naught."

He didn't mean to reproach but Naeryn felt it like this. She was berating herself. How could she have miscalculated so? How could she have trusted in herself so much? And it had been all for naught, Oberyn was…

"It wasn't," Arthur cut in, and everyone looked up, surprised.

He gave them a grim look. "The mountain top," he said. "I know it. It's in the Red Mountains. For almost a year, I did nothing but stare at it. I could paint it, was I possessed of the merest touch of talent."

He drew a tortured breath. "They are in that damned tower," he said.

* * *

Shaking with cold, Allyria was eating her lunch after making sure that the boys had eaten as much of theirs as they could. The amount they had been able to swallow had been quite small – but the stinking bucket that served as privy and hadn't been emptied since their arrival killed their appetite quite efficiently. Allyria was fighting to stay awake but a good and long sleep looked so very enticing.

She was now as white as the boys, everything in her body going slower because of the cold and blood loss. Deep inside, she knew she was dying and that no one would do anything to help her. The screams of the poor fool who had believed her bluff still echoed in her mind, sinking her into incapacitating fear and even regret, as if she was somehow to blame for his fate. But now, no one would come to them out of the ordered times, let alone disturb Gerold on her plea, and tonight or the next morning they'd find her dead body – for which they would also be punished. Gerold was so obsessed with punishing the Dayne of Starfall he had finally laid his hands on that he hadn't realized just how far he had gone, almost killing his precious hostage. Once again, Allyria's hand went between her thighs. The spot was going numb but the pain would flare again at the slightest motion.

She knew that she would not stop the bleeding, no matter how hard she pressed, yet she tried. Just as she expected, when she removed her hand, the blood only came out gushing and the world swirled in front of her. Ilon gasped when he saw that her hand had come out wet and red.

"I am fine," Allyria tried to say before her head swam and the loss of blood finally rendered her unconscious.

* * *

"They are indeed there," Arthur said. "Our men returned with the confirmation."

His announcement was met with grim faces and troubled whispers. He went on, "For now, it looks like they're all concentrated in the tower and the grounds around it. Preparing for their next attack, by the looks of it."

He didn't need to say that last bit. What else could outlaws be doing in an abandoned tower and around? The bloody tower could not offer the comfort of High Hermitage, as Arthur knew better than anyone.

"We should attack them as they gather," the young Lord Manwoody said.

Yes, that was the most logical course of action, and one almost guaranteed to bring them victory. It was also the course of action that had Arthur's heart all but scream out in protest. No matter the swiftness of their attack, there would be plenty of time for the men to notice their arrival. The so called Tower of Joy was a bloody watchtower, for the Warrior's sake! And while there might not be enough time to deploy – if they organized their attack in a broad enough front, - the time would be more than enough for something to happen to Allyria and the boys. Arthur's memories of Gerold were not fond ones and what Arel had supplied recently pointed at three bodies thrown at them in parts if he felt cornered.

Elia wanted the Vulture King removed. Arel wanted the children safe. Arthur wanted both and couldn't have them, not at the same time.

"If Lady Allyria and the two children weren't there," Lord Fowler said, "I would suggest that we set the forest to the fire, and the tower with it. The gods see that we should have razed the place to the ground many years ago anyway."

_Why didn't you,_ Arthur wanted to shout. _Why didn't you?_ He doubted that there was even one man in Dorne who would mourn the building. "But they are there," he reminded the man more acidly than he intended to.

From his place near the wall where he stood silent, having been allowed to be present only if he didn't say a thing, Alynna's eldest son, Elvar Sand's squire, was shaking his head in mute horror. For a moment, Arthur found it in himself to pity the boy and his mother who was still sleeping under the effect of the milk of poppy, unable to deal with what had happened last night, and then his mind returned to his own plea.

Everyone in Arel's study knew just how much trust Elia had placed in him. Everyone knew that he had a way of proving himself worthy of it in a way that was almost certain to be an easy one – if a fire in the forest could ever be named easy.

He only had to give something in exchange. The lives of two children. And the life of his own sister. _Allyria burning into the fire…_

Would someone blame him then? Yes, for sure. But he'd be known for his honour. He would have justified Elia's confidence. He would have given both sides of the Dornish Marches the peace they deserved. He would have won the appreciation of the realm for Elia.

"No," he said, and he wondered bitterly whether he'd ever get Elia to forgive him this last betrayal.

 


	28. Coming Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who commented. Each review felt like a Christmas present, so - thank you.

In Arthur's ears, the whispering of his men-at-arms clashed with the muted clatter of hoofs wrapped in fabric and they both competed with the pumping of his own blood and the thud of his heart. He was happy that the ragged terrain did not allow for any conversation, for he was fit for none.

They were now high in the mountain, the cold tickling every inch of skin it could get to. Arthur had come here in the moonlight thousands of times and although he had always found the night mountain enthralling, he had always been more alert, never quite comfortable. The summits loomed too high, the stars spread a veil of shimmering mist and the trees were whispering secrets in a language he could not understand. The Red Mountains were a different place at night. He had always preferred the sunlight.

Next to him, Arel stared straight ahead. Arthur's sharp sensitivities told him that his brother was so focused on his aim that he could see the details of their environment no clearer than Arthur. Still, he looked calm. In fact, the only thing showing that the failed sorcery attempt had affected him at all was the fact that he now kept Alynna's eldest son close, never letting him leave his side. Arthur had glimpsed the boy's bewilderment but that was better than telling him the truth of what had transpired.

The next mountain top rose before their eyes. The Golden Cup. It was not even this high, yet in Arthur's mind it was far higher than the ones they had conquered, the highest one they had to go to. From there, they could see the sheltered place the tower lay snug in. The men inside, though, they couldn't see them. Not at night, not with the moon starting to fade.

Or so Arthur hoped.

Once again, he thought that night had a way of changing everything, even the land of his birth.

The narrow path started winding, curving around the rocks that Arthur now for the first time recognized to be shaped as strange, giant faces. The First Men, maybe?

Oberyn rode forward.

"What?" Arthur hissed before the other man could go ahead of him.

Oberyn reined his steed in and turned his head. His eyes glittered like the obsidian Naeryn wore so often. "We don't know what lies ahead," he said in a low voice, for in the mountain, voices carried well.

Later, Arthur would get used to such attitude but now he was so stunned that he let the Prince pass. The outright admission that Arthur's life was now more valuable than Oberyn's, that Elia's consort should not go into the unknown when the risk could be avoided was something he had never expected to receive from his fellow Dornishmen. This one least of all.

No. With Oberyn, it wasn't just his recognition of Elia's husband. He wouldn't have done it for Rhaegar. _He's giving me a sign._ All of a sudden, Arthur's hope rose again. This far, Oberyn had been good to his word – he had been taking Arthur's commands without hesitation, showing him respect in all things, and not only when there were people present. He seemed to approve of Arthur's decision to deviate from the plan to deal with the Vulture King swiftly, cruelly, and effectively. Maybe Elia would also take it this way.

Oberyn returned and shook his head, indicating that no visible danger lurked on the next segment of the path, and the men spurred their horses.

When they reached the summit, the moon had indeed disappeared, leaving them nothing but the feeble light of enormous stars that could not warm Arthur's frozen heart. From where they were, they could see the camp around the tower and the building itself, its red turned to black in the pale shimmer. Dark spirals of smoke rose to the sky and Arthur tried to estimate which chambers they were coming from. His blood started pounding once again when he realized that the rooms on the highest floor where they could reasonably expect to find the captives were cold. Their men had confirmed that there were many men gathered in the tower – but there had been no way to know whether it also housed a young girl and two small boys. What if they weren't there? What if they had been but had been moved somewhere else? Gerold – right now, Arthur had to operate under the presumption that it was his kinsman he was dealing with – might have seen his chance in impulsively trying to abduct and wed Lady Blackmont but he would not start a war against everyone without support. What if he had sent the children to his unknown allies?

What if he kept them in the cold?

What if he had taken Allyria to his own chamber? The girl had already started turning into a woman. A very beautiful one. All of a sudden, shame seared his deepest being. He had once been the guardian of a young highborn lady in the very tower they were about to attack. He had always told himself that Brandon Stark had overreacted, and it was so. Still, now Arthur realized that in Stark's place, he might have done the very same thing.

But if they weren't there – and never had been? He would have squandered their chance to deal with those outlaws once and for all.

He turned about and beckoned Naeryn closer.

"Are you sure there's no way for us to go through one of the secret channels your grandmother told you about?" he asked when she reined in close to him. The reins were loosely wrapped around the wrist of her malformed hand, so she could use her normal one. It was a strange thing for Arthur to notice just then.

Naeryn shook her head. "As far as I know, the two secret tunnels are accessible only from the inside. I must get in."

Her Northern shadow grimaced. Clearly, as far as he was concerned, any plan that did not include his lady in close contact with the enemy was a good one. Especially when he wasn't supposed to accompany her there.

Arthur swallowed his mimicking of the expression. He didn't want anyone to get in! He wanted to get three people _out_ before razing the damned building to the ground with all the traitors inside.

"Form the wall," he ordered and soon after was the first one who rode downwards, straight against the sleeping men whose sentinels were so careless and tricked by the night that they barely managed to raise the alarm before being literally run over.

Shouts erupted from the tower and from the windows, arrows flew out. But the months spent in the cursed building had provided Arthur with little entertainment other than valuing the beauty of his homeland and inspecting his prison, so he had positioned his men well out of the range of the arrows or rather, in places that made targeting even harder than the narrow embrasures did.

All they had to do was wait a few volleys that showed the men inside just how futile this method of defense was. Then, Arthur rode forward, taking his helmet off to reveal his face under the light of the torch young Laval was holding. Someone behind him suggested to go instead but Arthur was done with it, had been done since he had been shocked enough to let Oberyn do it just once.

"I want to talk to your leader," he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. "I want to talk to Gerold Dayne," he added and waited to find out whether the first one of their assumptions would turn out to be right.

Behind him, someone tried to get near but he raised his hand to stop them. The Vulture King would not show up should he see that Arthur was not alone to talk to him.

"Do you think he's going to come, Ser?" Laval asked.

Arthur looked at his face that was in equal measures eager and scared. The boy must have seen his fair share of knights practicing and tourneys but tonight had probably been the first time he had seen an organized, non-mock attack. "I think so," he replied. "He knows they're encircled. And that he still has a trump card. He will come."

Unless Allyria, Edric, and Ilon weren't there at all. Then, the Vulture King might not realize what they feared and that he didn't have any advantage over them. _Well_ , Arthur thought _, then we'll just have to take the tower. Burn it to the ground._ Even as he was thinking it, he knew he could never take the tiniest chance that they might be inside.

The Vulture king rode his mount out of the tower when the night was gathering its deepest dark, when the dawn was not far away and the owls were starting to rise. Arthur waited for his approach and suddenly wanted to laugh at the sight of the black stallion. Had Gerold chosen it to compliment his silver hair? He turned the matter around in his head and decided that his mind was getting really unstable if he kept asking himself that – was the horse chosen to compliment Gerold's hair?

"Welcome, Cousin," Gerold said. He wasn't speaking with the typical Dornish drawl – his own drawl was meant to convey his amusement, the fact that he had all the time in the world. Innerve Arthur as much as possible. "You've been really fast. I am impressed."

"I am far less impressed with your folly," Arthur replied. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't take your head right now and then burn your fellow traitors inside as the cornered foxes you all are."

Gerold raised an eyebrow, scanning the earth littered with his dead men. On Arthur's side, there had been almost no losses. "Damnation! They were good men," he murmured.

Arthur didn't take the bait. "Give me one reason," he said.

Gerold smiled condescendingly. "Now, now, Arthur," he chided. "Let's not get childish here. You know that had you not been scared for my three reasons, you would have already burned me… like a cornered fox, I believe?" He chuckled. "I imagine destroying this place might win you some points with your noble lady wife. But maybe you cherish the memories from your time here?"

"Not particularly," Arthur said coolly. Now that he had his confirmation, everything about him had settled in stony resolve. This was just another battle that he had to fight. And now he knew what weapons the opponent had at his disposal. _Never hate, Arthur_ , Mikkel Gargalen's voice echoed in his head. _Never hate or rejoice in battle. Because if you do, you have already lost half the battle._ Calmness and self-control, those were makings his foster father had built in him for months before even letting him touch a sword. "I'd like it if you let them go but I don't expect that you will?"

Gerold laughed out loud. "Now, that's better, Arthur! I had started to believe those saying that your years away had stripped you of your Dornish wit. No, I won't let them go indeed. If we burn like foxes, so will they… and let me tell you, they might not last as long as we will. All of them are… indisposed."

Arthur's heart felt as if it would burst right out of his chest. But his face stayed impassive. "I have a proposal for you. Give them to me, and I'll spare your life. I'll convince Elia to do so as well. You might get away with as little as a heavy fine and an exile."

"Elia!"

Rabid hatred crossed Gerold's features. For a brief moment, he looked so much like Aerys that Arthur felt chilled.

"You're the soul of generosity, Cousin," the younger man said caustically. "But I'm afraid I have to refuse. It'll be very stupid of me to lose my advantage and rely on your honour. Let alone humiliating."

"But it'll keep you alive," Arthur pointed out.

"And it'll give you and her further glory," Gerold countered. "No, Arthur, it won't do."

It really wouldn't. For all his dislike of his High Hermitage kinsmen, Arthur had never imagined that Gerold's hatred ran so deep that he'd rather embrace death than Arthur's mercy.

"I have another suggestion instead," his cousin said. "Why don't you take your men and march away like the peace-loving do-gooders you're striving to be? Let us leave Dorne. When we're on the other side of the Dornish Marches, I'll release the three to you."

Arthur shook his head. "Out of question," he snapped.

"Is it, indeed?" Gerold inquired politely. "If I send you a small finger instead, will it be still out of question?"

 _The Seven help me, he's mad enough to do it._ Somehow, Arthur kept his face blank. " _Especially_ if you send me a small finger."

Gerold stared at him curiously and started saying something but the scream of a night bird nearby drowned his words. "I wonder," he said pensively, "whether Arel will agree."

Arthur's blood ran cold. In the state he was in now, his brother might be an easy prey for Gerold to smell his fear like an animal would. And Gerold would use that to divide their party, undermine their efforts… and hurt both Arthur and Arel simply because he'd enjoy it. "Arel agrees with me," he said.

"Does he?"

To Arthur's horror, Gerold raised a hand, beckoning Arel closer. Arthur gripped the reins more tightly and the sand steed started prancing, feeling his anxiety. _Don't come, Arel. I_ will _solve this, I swear. Don't let him play us against each other. Believe in me as I have always believed in you._

No hoofs moved the grass.

"This bastard!"

Finally, Arthur had had enough. "That's enough. Don't you dare!"

The narrowed eyes resting on his face looked dark in the torchlight. "That got to you, didn't it? But he's no doubt that… just like you and those sisters of yours. Need I remind you that it was your mother and not mine who slept with everyone she met?"

Now, Arthur realized that he might have possibly raised his voice. "Anyway, you lose," he said. "You either play your big advantage with me, or not play it at all. I repeat my offer and even expand it: let the children be, and I'll appeal to the Lady of Dorne to punish you with exile alone."

"Like Doran did their beloved cousin?" Gerold asked. "Do you think me a fool, Arthur? You cannot promise such a thing and I won't take a verdict from your wife either. Especially with _him_ there. Has it ever been a case when Arel asked for something and was not given it? Not while Alric Gargalen had any say!"

His eyes moved from the hilt of Dawn at Arthur's side to the men gathered a good distance behind him. "Thought he'd stay forever chained to that barren wife of his and Geralt would wed Ashara, so we would inherit Starfall. Prayed for that every day. Instead, he killed her and did he get punished for that? No, Alric whispered in his son's ear and Arel emerged completely innocent and married that Gargalen bitch just to cheat us out of our rightful place. Do you even know who she is? No one in Dorne knows where her mother came from, which pillow-hourse in Braavos Carral Gargalen dragged her from. And he made a second Essosi whore mistress of Starfall! Started fathering all those brats on her. You think I'll accept _his_ judgment?"

Arthur sighed, exasperated. "Are you done with your laments?" he asked. "Because I really don't think we're getting anywhere. You don't want to lose your advantage? Fine. That's our last offer: you will release my sister and the boys and you can have Lady Naeryn instead. Surely she'll make a far better hostage. She won't require a nursery," he added, realizing fully well that nursery was the last thing Gerold would have provided to his prisoners. But if he was right and they were cold and held in bad conditions, then his cousin would certainly appreciate a hostage who was far better able to take his accommodations without getting ill. "Then, we'll give you a day time to leave the Red Mountains before giving chase. I expect you to release her when the day ends."

He only prayed that they wouldn't take the time to attack some poor villagers on the way.

Gerold's eyes glittered. "Naeryn Sand turned out to be a bigger fool than I thought her," he said. "All for two brats and a girl she barely knows." He laughed. "I'd like to see you explain _this_ to your wife. Her own cherished cousin."

He thought briefly but Arthur could say with reasonable certainty what his answer would be. Naeryn might be a malformed bastard but she was Elia's beloved cousin. Alric's niece. Aemon Targaryen's stepdaughter. Stannis Baratheon's future goodsister. Lord Yronwood's paramour. And a healthy young woman like her would be sustained on less and moved with less trouble.

"And she agrees to come willing?"

"Yes," Arthur said, and Gerold stared past him to regard her. Naeryn the Cursed. Naeryn the Whore. All of a sudden, Arthur remembered the pale smoothness of slender arms twining about him. How he had watched her, amazed how delicate her bones and skin were despite her great bodily strength.

"Fine," the younger Dayne finally said. "She will come with me and I'll release them as soon as we get there."

This time, Arthur laughed derisively. "Do you think I am _such_ a fool?" he asked. "She isn't getting anywhere near you."

Gerold scowled at him. "Then how do you suggest we make the exchange?"

"You'll go back to the tower and let them out. At the same time, Lady Naeryn will walk against them. They will pass each other and reach the gates and us at the same time."

It was Gerold's turn to laugh. "Not going to work."

Arthur hadn't expected him to accept immediately. But there was no way he was giving him the children _and_ Naeryn. "Then I'll assume that you don't have them," he said firmly. "I wish you good luck. You might even make it to the tower to burn and suffocate with the rest of them foxes."

Gerold blinked, clearly not having anticipated this turn of events. Arthur turned his horse. "Come on," he told Laval. "We're leaving."

They had almost reached the rest of their groups when behind them, Gerold shouted, "Fine!"

Arthur had won this round!

His feeling of triumph lasted just about the length of a screeched conversation between two owls. The moment the figures emerged from the gate of that bloody tower, fear swept him, more powerful than ever before. The pale apparition drowned in torchlight from the courtyard looked nothing like the girl who had traveled to Sunspear for his wedding – her face was pale and bloated, her hair hanging limp and draggled over one cheek, her clothes soiled rugs that the kitchen girls at Starfall would never don. She was dragging a boy by the arm and holding another, unmoving one with his head on her shoulder. But their advance was very slow because she herself could barely walk, swaying and staggering, her body visibly numb and irresponsive to her commands. She was so changed that for a moment, Arthur thought that it was not her, that it was all a trick.

In the middle of the distance, Naeryn came near, touched her shoulder, and said something that Arthur could not hear. Then, she kept walking toward the Tower of Joy slowly, resolutely, matching her pace to Allyria's, so the moment the gates swallowed her, Arel came forward and without saying anything, grabbed the fair-haired boy from Allyria's arms. Oberyn took Ilon who went to him willingly.

Relieved of her burden, Allyria swayed precariously and her knees buckled. Arel kept her upright and looked at Oberyn. "Can you…?"

"Light a fire," Oberyn said curtly and a short while later, a few blankets were stretched near the young flames, so he could examine Allyria without hurting her modesty.

When he emerged from behind the makeshift screen, his face was white. "Send someone to the Wyl Castle," he said. "She needs a litter. She cannot travel by horse."

Arthur and Arel shared a troubled look. They had both noticed that the part of Allyria's clothing that was most soiled with blood, both dried and new, was her skirts. "Has he…?"

"No," Oberyn said. "It isn't that."

It did not sound too comforting but then, he had hardy meant it this way. Allyria's eyes blazed a lion's anger, she clasped Arel's hand and whispered, "Kill Gerold, please. Kill him for me."

"He's a dead man," he promised, wrapping her in the cloak they had brought over for her. "I promise. Thank you for taking care of them."

She shook her head. "It wasn't much of care," she said bitterly, staring at the boys who were now examined by Oberyn, and then dropped to her knees near the fire, sitting on her heels and supporting her weight additionally with her arms outstretched behind her. She stayed in this weird position for a very long time – all the hours needed for the stretcher to arrive.

* * *

The first thing the two guards did upon taking her to the chamber on the top floor was strip her naked, on Darkstar's command. And they meant _naked_. Like, taking everything off. At seeing the hand reaching for her smallclothes, she flinched away and snapped, "I can manage on my own, thank you very much."

"Can you?" the burly man asked, looking truly surprised. His eyes went to her missing limb.

Naeryn angrily started pulling the remaining items of her attire off and the men didn't try to stop her and keep doing it themselves. They were probably scared of the rumours of her sorcery, she realized and started thinking of different ways to put this to her advantage.

Until the Vulture King came. He checked every inch of her skin for an ointment that shouldn't be there, removed the silver ring with a ruby from her finger and the earrings from her ears. Naeryn growled when he took the twin bracelets of interwoven gold strands with sapphires and amethysts at the interstices and reached to snatch them back.

"No Essosi tricks, my lady," he warned. "Or you'll spend the next few months just like this – naked, to everyone's delight. Mine, most of all."

So, he wasn't thinking of honouring his part of the deal. Naeryn was not surprised. But her hopes that they'd just forget about her while they were doing their preparations to flee and give her the chance to find the secret tunnels she had mentioned about were crushed. As Gerold pulled new clothes over her, she realized that he didn't mean to let her out of his sight. Her fingers fumbled with the laces.

"Not comfortable in those, eh?"Gerold Dayne asked. "You should be honoured. Those were probably clothes worn by a future queen."

Of all things that had happened to her in the last few minutes – all the things that would happen to her now – this was the ultimate offense. She glared at him, showing her teeth. "How dare you bring me such soiled clothes," she spat. "You will pay for this, as well."

He chuckled. "That's what I've always thought about you Martells. Or is it a Gargalen thing? You can stand anything but a blow to your pride. Aim at the pride, and you fall down. You can take those off as well, my lady, I won't stop you. But you'll either have to suffer them or accompany us naked. I daresay Cousin Arthur wouldn't feel this shocked. I heard that he took your maidenhead when you were twelve, so he must have seen you like this hundreds of times. Of course, that was before you became Anders Yronwood's whore."

"I am Anders Yronwood future bride!" Naeryn said immediately, without thinking. Only a moment later did she realize with her brain just how important it was to have Gerold Dayne convinced in that or she would likely become his whore instead.

He laughed derisively. She cocked her head and smiled arrogantly.

"As if!" he exclaimed. "You might be good enough to warm his bed, my lady, but he isn't mad enough to wed you."

"Is that so?" she snapped. "He's trying to mend things with the Martells, so his heir will wed my sister, as you might have heard. And he's planning to wed me because he fell in love with me along the way. These bracelets you took from me – they are a present from him. Our wedding will take place in three moons," she lied.

"I don't believe you," he claimed even as he inspected the incredibly costly jewels.

She didn't need him to. She just needed to have him thinking for a few hours. Because she was _not_ sharing her mother's fate, to be dragged to all the cities and continents the villain decided to take her to.

They left the tower under a bright sun rising young to the western horizon. Riding a horse with reins that were held by the Vulture King in person, Naeryn thought that a bad omen. She had always been more comfortable in the moonlight than in the sun. Preferred silver to gold, everyone knew that and took care to present her with silver. Everyone but Anders. Had she, in her heart of hearts, accepted the secondary place the world had allotted her? She saw the ranks of their own men as she went past them. Arthur caught her eye but she didn't dare give him any inkling, lest someone see. Right now, she didn't want to set his mind at ease either. She had never begrudged Elia his lasting love but sometimes, the swiftness that he had forgotten her, Naeryn, with, stung unexpectedly. But had his feelings been unexpected themselves? Hardly! Who remembered the moon when the sun rose in the sky?

Her eyes were red from the lack of sleep. Should she have a looking-glass, she was sure that she would see bruises so deep that her eyes would look made up in black.

"Welcome to the start of our journey, my lady," Gerold Dayne said sarcastically.

She ground her teeth as he led her horse past the ranks of waiting men. She had every intention to end this journey much sooner than expected but the thought of her means… She breathed the mountain in, the screeches of the bird, the blue summits, the glittering lines of the streams running down and yes, the sight of the dead men littering the ground. She wondered whether Arthur would bother give them a proper funeral.

The Old River, narrow and deep, ran along the Boneway, immediately after the grounds of the tower. Naeryn looked at the deep precipitous gorge, the surging waters, the trees sporting their bare branches at the two sides and wondered whether anyone could survive a fall in there.

"Take care, my lady," Gerold wondered and motioned at one of his men to step in line closely behind Naeryn because the path along the defile was so narrow that it barely contained a horse. There was no way for it to fit two abreast.

That was the moment Naeryn had waited, to be given the control of her own reins. Indeed, she normally preferred to wrap them around her wrist but she could deal without should need arise. The Vulture King had taken all precautions but he had no way of knowing just how lithe Naeryn was. She had taught her body to be a perfect instrument of her will because that was the only way she could keep up with the rest of the world – compensating for the missing limb.

Still, she had never gone down this route before. She had no idea where she could best jump off so that Arthur's men would see her. Stealthily, she stirred her feet in the stirrups to test the suppleness of the leather and braced herself for action.

The sky was rising blue and clear, free of the morning mist, so close that she could touch it. Before her, Gerold Dayne was navigating his night horse and after, his men were concentrating on soothing their own skittish beasts. Far beneath, the Old River gushed and hissed, and carried foam and whirlpools to the sea.

A voice suddenly spoke in her ear, _"Now! Do it now!"_

Whose was this voice? _Errol_ , Naeryn thought, startled. Was she imagining things? Or had he, with the failing of her sorcery last night, stayed with her without her knowing it?

Her hesitation lasted no more than a minute. She freed her left foot from the stirrup and moved her leg on the other side of the saddle, causing a shout of alarm from the man riding behind her. For a moment, she balanced on her right foot still in the stirrup and her strong right hand to give their men the chance to see her. Then, she pulled her right foot off as well and with a sharp cry threw herself right into the gorge, flying to the river – and her death?

She heard the startled curses of Dayne's vagabonds and then the sounds of trumpets from farther above. A familiar voice shouted an order but she could not say who the voice belonged to. _Arthur? Or Oberyn?_ she wondered and then her head hit a rock and she knew nothing more.

* * *

Arthur's hopes that his return to Sunspear would be a quiet one were crushed as soon as he reached the shadow city: everyone living in the shade of the Old Palace, plus a good deal of visitors, had come out into the streets to cheer him into the dying light. Sure, Oberyn's name and the names of some others of the leaders in their party were chanted often and loudly but one name was rising above anything else, breaking through the din, feeding on its own echo: the Sword of the Morning. Everyone's eyes were trained on the milky sword with glinting hilt that reflected the fading light of the evening.

It took him more than two hours to reach the Old Palace where he was met with no less excitement and anticipation – but also fear. Aemon Targaryen was the first one to meet him, heading for him with remarkable speed for someone who had trouble walking. "How is Naeryn?" he asked urgently. No congratulations from this one. Certainly no cheering. Just grave concern. Finally, Arthur felt justified in feeling this way. All that the acclamations had done for him was making his distress more acute.

"She lives," he replied, unwilling to lie, yet feeling that he should soothe the older man's tension to the best of his ability. Then, he had to look aside, feeling that he was intruding into Aemon's soul – the Targaryen prince's relief and gratitude were so profound and bare. He occupied himself with untying his saddlebag.

"Take the horses to the stables," he told Laval. "Then, you're free to go and look for your family."

Without adding anything, he headed for the private quarters, leaving his men to fill the gaps in the palace people's knowledge of the events that had just transpired. He was so tired and disheartened that he just wanted to slide down the wall and bury his face in his hands. But alas, he had to tell Elia the full details of everything that had happened. How he had placed something before her again. And the horrifying results of the whole thing.

To his surprise, she was alone in her solar, unattended by anyone. There were a few candles lit but no candelabra. Maybe the light hurt her eyes. And maybe it was because of the faint light that he looked at her with an entirely new worry. She had already started to show, albeit not much, meaning that her belly was not bulging yet. But she looked abnormally wide right above the hips, Arthur could see it under her loose robe. Her skin gleamed white, her lips bitten all over and her eyes as bruised with exhaustion as his own. The thought that he had hurt her once again, made her distrust him made him want to run far away, where he would never have to look at her and know that he had killed her hopes for a future of love and trust.

She came near and reached out. "Arthur, what happened to your hands?"

He looked down at them with surprise. "It's nothing," he said. Indeed, he had felt no pain when he had been clinging to rocks and removing smaller stones to reach Naeryn, stuck unconscious between a rock and a tree, with the river beating her from all sides. Later, he had felt it all as the maester had tended the bruises, the split nails, the infection that had started spreading.

"It isn't nothing," Elia said. "Let me clean them."

He nodded silently, grasping at the chance to postpone the moment of explanation.

Elia brought him over to the settee and went to fetch some water and a piece of fabric. Arthur sighed in delight when he realized that the water was a warm one. Elia worked swiftly but carefully, avoiding even the least distress to him, and he marveled at the sight of her leaning over his hands, once again bloodied and calloused by holding the reins. Five days had passed since he had put an end to the raids and taken his kinsman's head. It looked like five centuries.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "I betrayed you again."

She dabbed at a bit of blood and looked up, her eyes bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"I promised you I'd deal with him most effectively. Instead, I let my feelings get in the way, allowed Naeryn to start a ritual that she handled so terribly that Alynna still isn't in her right mind, alerted Gerold that we were there, actually handed Naeryn to him and if it hadn't been for her own bravery, he would be now sow panic and death all around the Dornish Marches." He paused. "You didn't ask me how she was."

"I got a raven from your brother and another one from Castle Wyl." She paused. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

"No…" Arthur protested.

Elia made a step back. "You think I'd rather have innocents, among them my own blood, die than have my orders thwarted? Do you think I wed you just so I can have someone subservient to my own will in all things?" Another step back. "I see the misunderstandings between us run even deeper than I imagined."

"It isn't that," Arthur sighed.

"Then what is it?" To his relief, she didn't keep her progress to the door. Instead, she examined him and something in her softened, her dark eyes filling with candlelight. She came close once again and placed a feathery kiss on his poor hands.

He drew a deep breath. "Deviating from the plan," Elia whispered, "showed me that I had chosen wisely. You're coming back to yourself. Leave the obedience as you knew it at King's Landing, Arthur. Leave it where it belongs. Let go and live here, with me."

"I want to," he said simply. "I love you and you know it."

A sad smile crossed her lips and stayed around the edges of her mouth. "It was never your love that I doubted. It was your ability to be loyal to me. But I wouldn't want you to lose what makes you human and… you. Not just so you can follow my orders."

She didn't say she loved him, even now. Sometimes, he thought she did. Like now. Other times, he wondered whether her distrust had suffocated love.

"You protected the innocent," Elia went on. "Like a true knight should. Like I want my husband to do."

It was the kiss that made him think, once again, that she loved him. It wasn't the passion she let a free run in their marital bed, the kisses that always made him bury his hands in her hair, trying to drink her whole. No, she kissed his eyes and lowered him to lie down on the settee. "Welcome back," she whispered and he knew it wasn't the punitive expedition that she meant.

He opened an eye to make sure that she wasn't going anywhere. Elia pulled a chair next to the settee and seated herself, holding his hand. "Tell me," she murmured. "Tell me about your sister. Tell me about Naeryn."

His voice shaking, his eyes closed shut against the terror, his bruised hand clasping hers, he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this truly was the last story for 2014. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and I wish you a Happy New Year!


	29. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who commented!

This far, Alaenys' impressions of King's Landing had turned out to outdo all the worst parts of Elia's descriptions. Had she ever thought the idea of the omnipresent stench amusing? It was far less so when she approached the foot of Aegon's Hill. Unfortunately, the babe shared her distaste and was not reticent to show it quite blatantly. Alaenys supposed she should be grateful that for now, she had not thrown up all over the King or Queen's splendid finery! No, this was a pleasure reserved only for her lord husband and once, to her greatest embarrassment, his onion knight. At Storm's End, she had had covered jars placed in every chamber she visited but too often, she simply hadn't made it to them. Now, she was queasy each morning and throwing up each afternoon but at least, in the evening she felt relatively fine. At least fine enough to attend the evening feast where everyone gawked at her and was quick to make disparaging remarks that she promptly returned. But there was still one of her – and hundreds of them. The fact that the King had neglected to invite the Lady of Dorne to the great tournament held to celebrate the fifth year of his ascension showed quite clearly the standing of Dorne with his court: it was non-existing. In the few cases Alaenys had actually found herself close to Rhaegar, she could see the dislike in his eyes despite his overall polite behavior. He could not forgive Elia for proving herself a good neighbour to the other side of the Dornish Marches, showing that even her new kinship with the villain would not stand in the way of justice. After this, Rhaegar could hardly summon such a loyal subject and supporter of peace and law to question her on matters that he had no say in.

As a result, the King's court had resorted to an overt insult by omission. Elia was certain to have been enraged at being left out of the formal invitation, despite not having either the inclination nor the ability to travel now, so close to her time. And Alaenys, with her Targaryen looks and Dornish birth, was taking all the effects of the new attitude of King's Landing against her homeland.

"You need not come," Stannis said from the table where he was working on some papers, or so she had thought. He might have been staring at her without Alaenys noticing. "I'll go alone tonight, and I'll say you're unwell. The rumours about your state are spreading around already, so no one will be surprised. There's no reason for you to put up with all that."

Alaenys smiled slightly, shaking her head. "My mother never hid away, even in the hardest hours of her life," she said. "I won't hide either. I won't let it be said that Lady Baratheon is too weak for court – or anything else!"

Her words sounded very brave but she immediately regretted them as his face closed even more than usual. She shouldn't have mentioned her mother. While Stannis was too well-bred to say something, she knew that he wouldn't be comfortable until the babe was born healthy.

"It was just an accident, you know," she said slowly. "Our children won't be like this. There's no reason for them to be."

He looked uncomfortable. "I am sure I have no idea what you mean," he said.

"Don't you?" Alaenys asked softly. "I think you do, my lord. My sister's infirmity was just a bad stroke of luck."

"Your half-sister," he corrected and she bit back a sigh. Normally, _she_ would have corrected his punctuality but now, it was more than that. He needed to remind himself that Naeryn wasn't _really_ her sister, was perhaps a daughter of a monster who had been deformed himself, so there was nothing wrong with her mother's – Alaenys' own – lineage.

All of a sudden, she wished for the babe to start kicking already. Maybe some strong movements would put her husband's anxiety to rest. Of course, she knew she would never dare ask him for such an act of intimacy…

"Yes, of course," she said. "Still, I don't need to hide from court. I am well. I won't give them the satisfaction! And I don't run away from battles."

He looked at her with surprise that almost made her sigh. What had he expected, a poor little mouse who'd run away and hide at the slightest shade of insult? Ah well, she had to admit that her looks weren't great help either. She was so slender and fair-skinned that she looked downright frail, although she was anything but. _I suppose I should be grateful that he's ready to endure the evening and the whispers alone to spare me any discomfort._ All of a sudden, she wished for these first three months to be over, so she could have her husband in her bed again. She had started realizing that this was one of the places where she might win him over somewhat from his aloofness.

Another means was being what he needed her to be, so later, Lady Baratheon met her husband in a splendid crimson gown, with Daella's famous parure of a necklace and earrings of diamonds and huge rubies on her alabaster skin. There was a slight smile on her lips and she had drunken enough of her herbal potion to be reasonably sure that she could withstand the aromas of various meals, the smell of the candles, and that of the hundreds of people she'd meet soon without gagging. Just in case, though, she had dampened a cloth in strong perfume and rubbed it in her right wrist, so she could inhale it each time she was in danger of being overwhelmed by a particular smell.

Tonight's festivities were hosted in the throne room again after a few evenings where other places in the Red Keep had been chosen, including the Tower of the Hand and the Queen's Ballroom – ah, what a disaster that had been! Did the Northern woman have no idea of how to play hostess? Even the wines they had been served had not been matched to the meals! Alaenys had heard the rumours that she had been the one who had seated them at the same table with Mace Tyrell at the first night. She had clearly looked uncomfortable when she had realized that the Fat Flower and Alaenys Targaryen of New Star would spend the dinner trading veiled barbs. But the fact that they had been seated at the same time with Tyrell at almost all other nights – that had probably nothing to do with the Stark woman and everything to do with the King. She still looked uncomfortable but he looked definitely pleased hearing Alaenys and Dorne being taught their place by everyone about. Where was the kind man Elia swore he had once been? _It's the war,_ Alaenys thought. _He's just as scarred by the war as everyone else._ Sometimes, she had seen a similar bitterness and anger pointed at others and himself in her own father's eyes when the shades of Aemon's past came to haunt him.

"Surprise, surprise," Stannis muttered when the marshal started leading them to the dais. They would both happily pass on it if that meant they'd pass on most of their table-companions as well, Lord Tyrell most of all. Well, not quite since seating them on a lower table would be nothing but insult.

"My lord, my lady," a voice suddenly spoke at Alaenys' left. She looked up and gasped at the sight of the Master of Ships. "I hope you're feeling well enjoying the King's hospitality."

Was he mocking her? Of course she wasn't enjoying the King's hospitality! Neither was he, if his looks and the rumours in the halls were any inkling. "Entirely," she assured him.

Lord Yronwood hesitated and then asked his next question with suddenness that took her aback. "I wanted to ask… How is your sister doing? Her bravery has cost her a lot."

Alaenys' fury rose so high and unexpected that her cheeks burned. "Ah, so now you're so very concerned," she snapped. "Where have you been all those months? Why are you showing interest only now, for the Mother's sake?"

Without gracing him with a real answer, she tugged at Stannis' sleeve to show him that he should keep leading her to the dais.

Where the first thing they heard was Mace Tyrell's plans to undergo a travel to the Dornish Marches as soon as he went back to his domains. "I love visiting every corner of the Reach's land," he explained.

Stannis ground his teeth and Alaenys went white with shock. Was he trying to start a war here, at the dinner table? With everyone watching eagerly for their reactions? Alaenys noticed the dark look the King gave Mace Tyrell. Clearly the Lord of High Garden wasn't supposed to insult Stannis. Just Alaenys and Dorne.

"We'll meet there, then," her husband spoke in a minute, his tone as measured as always. "As you know, I am good at waiting. I'll be waiting for you."

Lovely. Alaenys looked down at her plate and focused on the only two meals that smelled actually appealing to her sensitive nose. Were the threats of war between his vassals the way the King wanted to mark this anniversary?

But no. Now glaring at both lords, he spoke, "It looks like you'd better meet only at the table, my lords. The Dornish Marches are not known to be a happy place for meetings."

"Especially for Dornishmen," Mace Tyrell muttered and Alaenys bristled once again. But she should take care not to weaken Stannis' not enviable standing further, so she kept her mouth shut, only biting back from time to time when someone made an especially derisive remark against her homeland. Really, she got the feeling that the only ones who felt uncomfortable here were Stannis and she. And both Queens, of course. Rhaella, recently arrived from Dragonstone, tried to hold peace at the table. Lyanna Stark also tried – or maybe she intentionally tried to make matters worse, Alaenys was not sure. A Queen could not be so lacking in knowledge about the subtleties of political tensions, could she?

Alaenys was trying to have a conversation about the difference in life and styles in the Vale and Stormlands with the Hand's wife when the aptly named Queen of Thorns broke in. "Looking at your own style these few weeks, my lady, I'd say that you'd introduce a new fashion to the Stormlands, and not a good one. Not everyone there can afford dressing their wives in that revealing style all Dornish women seem to prefer. Let alone that people in the rest of Westeros have different ideas of modesty."

Alaenys opened her mouth to retort that young women should dress beautifully before they turn into dry thorns but the beginning of the entertainments drowned her voice.

She loved dancing. Her husband did not. Right now, she didn't mind so much because the babe didn't like it either. She closed her eyes briefly and let herself be carried away by the music and the blissfully quieter table. Until she felt someone watching her, making her look up startled.

"You look bored, Cousin," the King said. "Isn't our company good enough to keep your attention?"

"More than good enough, Your Grace," she answered immediately. "I was just… dreaming."

"Dreaming," Olenna Tyrell snorted. "Might put your fantasies to better use. Entertain us. Sing something to us. I hear you're quite talented at it. Something that's widespread in Dorne."

Alaenys' breath was cut short. Surely the old hag didn't expect that she'd actually….? Like a street entertainer? She, the Lady of the Stormlands, the granddaughter of King Aegon the Fifth of His Name?

"Mother…" Alerie Hightower said nervously.

"Don't call me "Mother"!|", the wicked old woman snapped. "To my best knowledge, I was nowhere near Oldtown at the time of your birth."

Stannis started to say something – no doubt an angry reply – but most of the people at the table were already praising the idea.

And the King nodded.

Once again, Alaenys felt that she might faint. She would refuse, of course, find a pretext… But then, looking at the gloating faces, she realized that that would be almost as good to them, seeing her disgrace herself with angry outbursts. Instead, she smiled sweetly at everyone and pressed her husband's hand warningly. "Of course. I'll be honoured to sing for you. If I can be given a lute?"

Stannis was the only one who squinted his eyes at her. They might still not know each other that well but he knew that she would never be this obedient, so he was perhaps the least surprised one at the table when the hall, silenced by a sign of the King, started filling with tunes he had only heard occasionally since they would never be sung in a Baratheon's presence.

_Where the waves of Old River are crushing,_

_In Boneway's wickedest part,_

_The enemy their way would better be watching._

_For no one can raid Dorne and live._

Everyone's eyes widened in shock at the boldness of the gesture. Had they really thought that she'd suffer insults to no end? That she was a shy little mouse just because she was outnumbered as heavily as not being able to retaliate at everyone? Alaenys' eyes ran over the crowd and found her intended audience at the dais. Some of them actually gaped at her, their jaws dropping. She smiled and went on, forced the tune through her tight throat, giving Mace Tyrell a few verses.

_The flower thought he had won greatest glory_

_But no. He was always watched._

_The sand snakes showed him their bite and he perished._

_For no one can raid Dorne and live._

Stannis was staring at her in a way that was quite disturbing. She couldn't say whether she'd be complimented or taken a hand to this very night. Well, it was too late to change anything. To the King, the last verses, and to Lyanna's Stark shocked face and the appreciating smile she was trying to fight off.

_The bodies of dead piled in scores – full two thousand._

_The Red Mountains proved their name._

_The haughty bright dragon was sent to the Stranger._

_For no one can raid Dorne and live._

Rhaegar Targaryen might be used to everyone applauding his singing but Alaenys did not expect applause and indeed, there was none. Shock was abundant, though, and she was smiling as she removed herself from the gallery of the musicians. _Why everyone told me that scandalizing the court at King's Landing was a bad,_ bad _thing_ , she wondered as she joined the others at the dais again. The brief flash in her husband's eyes showed her that being taken a hand to wasn't a viable option for her that night and she regretted the fact that the servants had already cleared the tables. All of a sudden, she was so hungry that she could eat all her meals and some of Stannis' as well!

* * *

In the last few months, there had been almost no places where Elia felt fine in. Her bathtub was one of her favourite residences now. She spent a good deal of her free time here. If she could conduct Dorne's affairs in the water, she'd jump for it.

"A screen?" she asked plaintively. "Please Arthur?"

"No!" Arthur and Rhaenys replied together.

"Mama, be serious!" Rhaenys scolded. "You're even a younger girl than me if you think you can hide behind a screen in your bathchamber while having people here."

Elia's smile broke out and Rhaenys giggled. "Oh you're joking," she said. "Fine. I'm going out," she added. "Lady Nym is going to the Water Gardens. May I accompany her? We'll be back tomorrow morning. The babe won't be born before I come back, right?"

"No way," Alynna's mother said from the door. "How are you feeling, precious?"

Rhaenys thought about it. "Impatient," she admitted. "I want the babe to be born already, so I can play with him."

Elia and Arthur shared a look. No matter that Rhaenys said she understood, she spoke as if the new child would be of age to play with her immediately. She missed Aegon more than she wanted to admit.

"Go to Laval," Arthur suggested. "He has no more duties for today."

Soon enough though, he found himself kicked out of the bedchamber immediately after he had helped Elia get out and dry herself. Ranna Gargalen looked at Elia's naked body. Her face remained carefully impassive but Elia's own fell. "Does it still lie transverse?" she asked after her aunt had touched and prodded from all angles. She knew the answer, though. She hadn't felt her babe turn.

Ranna didn't hesitate. "We have no way to know that it lies transverse," she pointed out. "Your belly is wide indeed but it isn't flatter as is usual with babes who lie this way. Perhaps you're just carrying a girl."

"Perhaps," Elia said, smiling despite her fear. Should she stay alive after the birth, she'd never be this flippant again! A baby who was in the most dreaded of all lies almost never lived and neither did the mother. And if her aunt was right, she must be carrying a girl by the size of a calf, the size of her own belly considered! Would she _fit_? Maester Caleotte tried to mask his concern but he had summoned other maesters to consult with and Elia had asked her aunt to come over from Starfall where she had been tending to her daughter, Allyria, and Naeryn whose injuries were quite severe. But all three of them were reported to get better and Elia's fear grew with each day her belly became wider and higher. Ranna did have a way with healing and many of the people at Salt Shore had sought her out instead of the maester. Sometimes, Elia had heard people say that Ranna was better at delivering babes than many a maester and she needed that reassurance, especially when she didn't want to tell Arthur about her fears.

But Ranna hadn't reassured her the way Elia had hoped. Instead, she had tried to hide her own concern. She still did.

"Am I going to die?" Elia asked all of a sudden and was horrified. Never before had she given voice to the panic that was claiming her.

In her aunt's eyes, she could read that Ranna wanted to say 'no'. But Elia wouldn't believe her anyway and Ranna had always preferred the truth. She was good in veiling it at many nuances but she had rarely spoken a lie if she could avoid it. "I don't know," Ranna admitted. "I hope not. I'll do everything I can for it to be not. But I simply don't know."

She supposed she should now tell Elia to not worry too much. But that would be no veiling the truth, it would be burying it so deeply in the ground that it could not be dug out of it. And it could not happen. Every woman in Elia's place would have worried and no worry was too much. She could lose the babe or die herself, or both, or end up in a state that would have her beg the Mother for death. Childbirth killed and maimed countless women every day. During her own healthy pregnancies, Ranna had always been scared that she'd be one of them.

"Now put some robes on," she said instead. "Go for a walk in the garden. Eat a hearty meal. Try to keep yourself as fine as you can. That really helps… more than you know."

Elia doubted something could help her but nodded. Ranna went to the window to let the sun in and stilled.

"What?" Elia asked. "What is it?"

"A royal ship," Ranna said. "The three-headed dragon."

They looked at each other, the same thought weighing both of them down. Had Rhaegar gone truly mad? Was this the start of a hostile campaign? They had already heard of Alaenys' bravura in the Red Keep, although the court hadn't exactly called it 'bravura'. Elia still couldn't believe it that Rhaegar had taken his resentment of her so far. Maybe it was because Alaenys was also with child that she had conceived almost immediately after her wedding and to the best of Elia's knowledge, Lyanna's womb was still empty. Maybe in this healthy and so dragon-looking cousin he saw what might have been had she been born only five years earlier. Could his yearning for his prophecy push him so far, into a war, when he had been so mortified at his part in the last one?

"Well, looks like my walk is out of the schedule," Elia said. "Help me dress for a council. I'll summon them as soon as I know what in the seven hells is going on."

Her answer arrived in less than an hour when Ciar whom she had sent to the port to see what was going on and what did this ship want entered her chambers. To her enormous relief, she saw that he was smiling.

"Nothing to fear, Elia," he told her. "Turned out that we simply have visitors."

She was opening her mouth to ask a question when the shine of a very familiar golden head entered the solar well before the head's owner did. He examined the surroundings and then gave her a bow, as deep as he had when she had been still queen. "You may enter, Your Grace," he called out to the door.

"Thank you very much, Ser Jaime," Rhaella replied dryly from the hall. "I was already yearning for your permission."

"Mama!" Aegon shouted, running into the solar to throw himself at her before his grandmother had made it to the door.

Elia held him tight, her heart singing with joy – and the horrible anticipation that Rhaella might have brought Aegon over to see her one last time.

 


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tons of thanks to everyone who reviewed!

"You'll come to Dragonstone with us, won't you, Mama?"

Elia looked down, scared that she'd break down in tears if she had to answer this question looking her son in the eye. "I cannot, Aegon. You're your father's heir, that's why you belong in Dragonstone. But I am no longer his queen, so I must live in Dorne now. Doesn't your grandmother take good care of you? I thought you loved her a lot."

He nodded. "I do. But it isn't the same thing."

Didn't she know it! She reached over and squeezed him tight, both proud and crushed for her little boy who was trying so hard to be brave. Still, the fact that he didn't insist panged her sharply. He had started distancing himself from her already. And there was a certain resignation about him that increased her worry. Was it because of her leaving? Or the fact that he had to live in this gloomy misty castle in the middle of a black sea?

He squirmed a little. "Mama!" he protested. "I must go. I'm busy."

He said it so business-like that she laughed as she released him. "What do you have to do?" she inquired.

"Aenar promised that he'd have the eggs brought out, so we can play with them."

She chuckled. "Hurry off, then," she said and thought that she might be too carried away with her concerns. Aegon was anything but moody. He had found friends here immediately, being particularly drawn to Aelinor and Aemon's youngest child who was only a few months younger.

Still, Elia moved to another terrace where she could have a better look at the gardens and the children were playing almost beneath her feet. She would never get tired of watching Aegon. After her prayers for a safe delivery, she prayed for a girl. She was sure that she could be a mother to only one son.

Now, Daenerys was trying to make a violet egg cut with silver lightnings to sink into the canal keeping the garden watered but it didn't want to. Without hesitation, Aegon entered the canal from the other side of the egg and tried to press it down, together with Daenerys. Elia laughed when he sank to his knees in his efforts but when they removed their hands, the egg adamantly swam back on the surface.

"So, that's where the eggs were," Rhaella said, joining her on the terrace. "I wondered all the time." She paused. "It feels strange," she said softly. "Looking at them treating dragon eggs like common playthings."

"I did the same thing when I was their age," Elia replied. "Uncle Aemon gave them to us for play with and never indicated that they were anything else but common playthings. Of course, he once believed that dragons were desperately needed but changed his mind about twenty-nine years ago. You remember the case?"

Rhaella took a seat, watching the children. To her surprise, Elia saw something like fear crossing the other woman's face. "I wish everyone else changed their mind as well," she said. "I believe Rhaegar won't try anything like the means he resorted to last time…"

"I hope not!" Elia snapped. If her former husband did try such a thing, Aegon might find himself facing two pretenders for the Iron Throne one day, instead of just one. Unless Lyanna killed Rhaegar first, of course. Which was not at all desirable. Aegon would certainly became a puppet of a regency that would exclude Elia from his life, let alone matters of states.

Rhaella let this one pass by. "Now, I don't mean him," she said. "There's a red priestess at Dragonstone and she's talking about a prophecy as well. And she's taking interest in Aegon," she added in a lower voice.

Elia's skin crawled. "Chase her away," she said sharply.

Rhaella shook her head. "I can't," she said. "She came to me with a letter from the Sealord of Braavos. I cannot offend him in such a way, I…"

"Pity, then, that Rhaegar didn't take after you," Elia snapped. She knew that Rhaella's concern was real but right now, she was not ready to acknowledge it. She rose and then froze at the pop she heard and the trickle that started soaking her skirts. This time, it looked like she'd give birth too soon. She silently prayed that she and the babe would both make it before sending for the maesters.

* * *

Elia had made no preparation for her new child's accommodations – no nursemaids, no nursery, no cradle even. The thought that she might end up with empty arms had always lived in her but in the Red Keep, it had been impossible to override the time-honoured rituals. Here, her will was the only one that mattered.

Now, it looked that her fears might have been justified. The birth had started only after two more days on top of the two days of slowly trickling water. The pains were strong but ineffective; more and more often, Elia did not even feel them – she was losing conscience for longer and longer periods.

The maesters' hushed conversations scratched her ears like mice running over a wooden floor; her aunt grip was painful, pressing her like a vice as Ranna insisted that Elia awoke. Ashara's face was a white blur of concern. More than once, she asked whether Elia wanted the Queen Mother here but each time, Elia shook her head. While she was attached to Rhaella, it did not feel appropriate that she'd be here at this moment. Instead, she held on to Alynna's hand, so tightly that two nails broke. Blood trickled down the back of her cousin's palm but she did not complain. "Next time, you'll be smarter," she said. "Moon tea it'll be for you from now on. And for me, for that matter."

"What does Arel say on the matter?" Elia asked between two flames of pain.

For a moment, Alynna's eyes shone with the daring light she had lost months ago. "It'd either that, or living as chastely as a septa, I told him last time. He didn't have much of a choice."

"Well," Elia quipped. "There us another way…"

Alynna's gaunt face was lit by a devilish smile. "There isn't," she vowed. "If I have to live like a septa, Arel Dayne will live like a septon as well!"

The women in the birthing chamber burst out laughing while the maesters looked downright uncomfortable. Pain and hopes, they were used to when a new life arrived. But humour? Elia laughed again, then moaned and her eyes started rolling. Unaware of what she was doing, she pulled Alynna's hand to her lips and bit her savagely. Alynna yelped in pain and surprise.

"Here, here," Naeryn said from the bottom of the chamber, near the bed, where she sat so that Elia could see her. "You don't need to feel ashamed. You're fighting a battle, after all. Alynna understands."

A battle. Resting between two pains, Elia looked at Naeryn's battle scars: her horrifying gauntness, her clumsy movements because there had hardly been a bone in her body that had not been broken and healing now, including her hand, her bloodless cheeks with a rugged scar that would probably never fade entirely. The one on her ear could be hidden one day but not now. Naeryn's glorious lush hair was no longer there, shaved off so the wounds on her head could be treated. Lately, it had started growing again but it was no longer than a fuzz for now and it would be years until she regained the crown of silver tresses that bards sang of. _I must fight my battle, too_ , Elia thought and wondered whether she could be as brave as Naeryn.

It was already dark when the babe was finally pulled out of her and Elia's scream of pain turned into a moan of relief when the small body and the hand slid out of her body. She fell back against the arms of those supporting her who now removed her fingers from the ropes she had been holding to and helped her lean against the pillows. Why not make her comfortable until the time to expel the afterbirth came?

She was so weak that she couldn't ask whether the babe was healthy, or whether it was a boy or a girl. "A girl!" Ashara cried out. "Oh my hardheaded brother will be mad with joy. Ah Elia, you have a daughter."

Elia tried to smile and couldn't. When they brought the cleaned babe to her, they had to place her arms around the small body since she couldn't lift them. Now, she did smile with her swollen, bitten lips. Silver fuzz on a conic head, olive skin, lips that were moving as if she was trying to say something…

Someone brought a cup to her lips and she drank, feeling the blessed wetness sliding down her throat. At this moment, she was whiter than Naeryn, her eyes sunken in shadows and lines of pain, her cheekbones incised sharply. She looked every year of her age and then some but the smile that hovered over her lips was as old as the gods and young as the crying of the newborn.

"Go down to tell Arthur and everyone," Alynna turned to Ashara, securing Elia's arms more tightly around the babe. "I'll write to Alaenys tonight. She was so sorry she couldn't be here."

"I am not," Elia murmured. "She doesn't need to see what's lying in wait for her only a few moons from now." She tried to stroke her daughter's cheek but her hands were as irresponsive as the rest of her body. "But I wouldn't have minded for Rhaegar to be here and see," she whispered and smiled again, with wicked triumph. "And now…" she started, her face taut with pain, and they removed the newborn so she could expel the afterbirth.

Which she didn't. When Maester Caleotte looked between her thighs, a hell of panicky cries burst out. Elia screamed in pain no less than the one she had experienced giving birth, despite the fact that afterbirths didn't have big head.

Hands pushed against her belly from all sides. An arm twisted its way into the passage her babe her just travailed. A knife started twisting in her belly. And then, a solid blade flashed.

* * *

"When is she going to wake up?" Arthur demanded.

"If it's up to me, in a week," Maester Caleotte replied. "She'll be in lot of pain, my lord, and I really think we should keep her under the effect of the milk of poppy until the worst is over."

"I don't understand," Arthur said. "What went wrong? What happened?"

Elia lay in the birthing bed as pale as the Stranger, her eyelashes shockingly dark. It looked to him that even the merest whisper of breath didn't stir her lips.

Ranna Gargalen sighed and looked down. "Elia was scared that the babe lay sideways," she said. "And he was. We just didn't know that there were two of them. Blessed be the gods that it was the second babe that was transverse. With the room he had after her birth, we managed to turn him breech and pulled him out. But there was no way to do it without…" She paused. "We had to cut her, Arthur," she said bluntly. "Cut her and stitch her up."

He went white.

"That was the only way to keep both of them alive," Ranna went on. "It turned out better than we hoped for."

There was something that she wasn't telling him. "But what?"

She hesitated. The few candles left in the room flickered, sending their light away from her face, as if they wanted to veil her and what she didn't want to say.

"We had to take him out very fast," she finally said. "And he wouldn't come out without much strength used on him, for both maneuvering him and pulling him out. The birth canal was completely dry…"

By the look in his eyes, she might very well be trying to teach him the language of Sothoros. She immediately decided against telling him that they had been scared not only for Elia's life but her continence as well – a well-known, incredibly humiliating, and absolutely incurable result of too many births gone wrong. He wouldn't understand that either. Men knew little about those results and this one knew even less than most men.

She paused again, gathered her thought, and said, "He sustained an injury that is well known to afflict many babes with a hard birth. He'll experience some problems with his right shoulder and arm."

Once again, Arthur looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Some problems? What problems? For how long?"

"Till the end of his life," Ranna replied, looking nervously at the bed, although Elia was still unconscious and couldn't hear her. "That's the same injury Ivorr sustained at _his_ birth."

In the bottom of the chamber, Ashara sobbed.

* * *

"What do you want to name them, Elia?" Arthur asked two weeks later when everyone had somewhat calmed down. For three days, she had been given lower doses of the milk of puppy, so she was awake for a few hours at a time. Even so, they kept her shatters closed – she was too weak to bear the harsh caress of the sun.

She looked at him blankly, the slightly better colour of her face gone. The double cradle was next to her bed and Arthur froze when her eyes moved over there. In the bottom of the room, Ashara wouldn't look at him. Instead, she rose and left without a word.

_She knows_ , Arthur realized. They had decided not to tell her for a while out of fear that it could affect her own recovery. But maybe she had insisted that they unwrap the babes, so she could see them in their entirety. She had done this with both Rhaenys and Aegon. And the fact that their son held his arm under a particular angle could not escape the notice of an experienced mother like her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"Because I wanted you to recover," he said simply.

Elia bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. "I didn't want a boy," she whispered. She was about to say something more but reconsidered.

Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed, taking her hands. "You aren't the one to blame, Elia. You were taking good care of both you and them. It just happened."

"But I am to blame," she murmured. "I am…"

She looked as if she was about to say something more but reconsidered. "Will he be able to hold a sword?" she asked. "Ever?"

"I don't know. Ivorr does."

The thought of her newborn facing the struggles Ivorr and Naeryn had faced was too terrible to bear. Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down the dried paths left of previous tears. Arthur held her close.

"He's alive, Elia. And so are you. That's all that matters now."

She shook her head against his chest but stayed silent.

"He'll have the best the world can give him," he said. "Every chance available to him and most of those that will not be."

She snuggled closer, holding to him for dear life. "Do you think my father made Ivorr that promise?"

Memories, pain and heartache gripped him in a way nothing else had never done. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. "Yes," he said. "I am sure he did."

Elia sighed. "He didn't keep it, did he?"

Fear coursed through his veins. He could already say that they'd have conflicts in their approach to raising their son. For himself, Arthur knew that he'd cling to Alric's ways, even if the tiny being lying in the cradle had to go through the torments that had been Alric's demands of Ivorr. Because he could see no other way for the newborn to lead a life like the one Ivorr led now, as unlimited by his injury as possible.

"He did," he said and pulled back to look her in the eye. "Of course he did."

For a while, she stayed silent before giving him a determined smile. "It could have been worse, couldn't it?" she said. "One or the other of us could have been dead."

She intentionally didn't mention the part about her own possible injury. She felt terribly guilty that even now, faced with her son's lifelong injury, a part of her was so relieved that she wouldn't spend her life bound to her bedchamber, unable to keep her own urine and feces from leaking out.

Arthur smiled back and went to the windows to let the sunshine in.

* * *

A trickle down the pile of hard winter snow. A flap of the wing of a newly hatched imperial eagle. A slight crack in the huge pieces of ice flowing down a river. The sweet smell of flowers rising their heads. That was how it started – the spring that maesters had promised. A real one, this time. It swept down the Iron Islands, turning men's minds to the spoils that would soon be gathered. Made a southern lady who had found her new home in the North sigh and ask sadly how many springs she would welcome before seeing her eldest. Crept into the Tower of the Hand where an old man recollected the joy and promises two boys he had loved dearly had always found in spring. Ambushed a king into his solar where he wondered what cruel streak would make the gods deny him his wish to grant it to a repudiated queen refusing to grant her wish. He had no doubts that all she had wanted was a healthy babe. Tugged at the heart of a queen who yearned for spring snows and instead had to watch a garden flower. Whispered hope and fear into the ear of a young mother to be who stood petrified at the top of a tower and prayed for the men caught in the big ship fighting a sudden storm in a deadly bay right there, before her eyes. Stirred the shawl wrapped over the head of a scarred, still hobbling woman who stood in the prow of a ship, watching an island of dragons rising bigger in front of her eyes. Moved the hot air into the nursery of two newborns who slept innocently, unaware of the hopes, disappointments, pain, and promises wrapped within them. Touched the sparkling ripples of the Summer Sea where it faded into silence.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who stayed with me for the duration of this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I deeply appreciate the time you took to give me feedback.


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